)f  California 

Regional 

Facility 


YTHOP  < 

.Hk  ^)««W^ 


BERTRAJfD 
BOOK 

140  PACIFIC  -4V 
T.OTfG  BRACH.  CALlt. 


AUNT   SERENA. 


AUNT  SERENA 


BY 

BLANCHE    WILLIS    HOWARD 

AUTHOR  OF  "ONE  SUMMER" 

PEL 


istrono,  lite  ftappp,  anb  lobe" 


BOSTON 
JAMES    R.  OSGOOD   AND   COMPANY 

1881 


COPYRIGHT,  1881, 
BY  JAMES   R.   OSGOOD  &   CO. 


All  rights  reserved. 


FRANKLIN   PRESS  : 

Stereotyped  and  Printed  by  Rand,  Avery,  <&  Co. 
BOSTON. 


"  Not  through  arrogant  pride 
Or  over-boldness  fail  they  who  strive 
To  tell  what  they  have  heard, 
With  voice  too  weak  for  such  high  message." 


2046430 


SERENA. 


CHAPTER  I. 

'  And  the  spring  was  in  my  life, 
And  I  was  glad." 

WILLIAM  MOKEIS. 

"  Her  somewhat  narrow  forehead  braided  tight, 
As  if  for  taming  accidental  thoughts 
From  possible  pulses." 

MRS. 


THE  only  chair  in  Miss  Weathers  tone's  little 
sewing-room  was  at  this  moment  occupied  by 
Miss  Weatherstone  herself.  This  was  a  palpable 
disadvantage  for  Rose,  who,  in  consequence,  was 
compelled  to  stand  before  her  accuser  and  judge  like 
a  naughty  child,  a  delinquent  housemaid,  or  a  culprit 
of  some  other  description. 

How  well  she  knew  the  little  room.  "  The  Den  " 
was  the  short  and  significant  name  which  she  and 
Harold  had  given  it  in  those  far-off  delicious  days, 
when  their  first  plunges  into  literature  had  revealed 
to  them  giant,  witch,  and  dragon,  and  they  had  peo 
pled  the  homely  orchard,  the  bird-house  on  its  slen 
der  pole,  the  dusky  branches  of  the  stalwart  oaks, 

5 


6  AUNT  SERENA. 

even  the  unsuspecting  phlegmatic  duck-pond,  with 
fabulous  beings  of  earth,  air,  and  sea.  But  not  the 
most  thrilling  vision  of  a  child-devouring,  flanie- 
snorting  monster  could  ever  produce,  in  the  hearts 
of  these  loving,  lawless  comrades,  such  agonies  of 
horror  and  despair  as  the  thought  of  a  certain  pale, 
still,  remorseless  woman,  stitching  in  her  low  chair 
by  the  sunny  window  of  the  Den. 

During  the  seventeen  years  of  Rose's  existence, 
she  had  been  summoned  with  lamentable  frequency 
before  this  dread  tribunal,  and  had  listened  to  repri 
mand,  exhortation,  and  warning,  all  of  a  somewhat 
scathing  nature,  in  precisely  the  position  in  which 
she  found  herself  to-day.  She  had  indeed  accepted 
these  oft-recurring  scenes  more  or  less  as  a  matter 
of  course,  like  thunder-storms  and  wintry  winds  and 
other  natural  phenomena  which  could  temporarily 
interfere  with  her  childish  pleasures,  but  which  were, 
upon  the  whole,  not  fatal. 

To-day  there  was  a  change.  The  same  clock 
ticked  in  the  impressive  silence  which  always  pre 
ceded  Miss  Weatherstone's  orations  ;  the  same  por 
trait  of  grandmamma  Weatherstone,  in  severest 
profile,  hung  on  the  wall.  But  still,  there  was  a 
change,  Eose  thought.  She  did  not  seek  to  define 
it.  She  felt  it  simply.  She  was  older.  The  early 
summer  had  come  full  of  beauty  and  promise  un 
speakable,  and  in  her  warm  young  heart  found  full 
response. 

She  had  galloped  down  the  long  grass-grown  lane, 
jumped  the  chattering,  slender  brook,  then  come 


AUNT  SEEENA.  7 

slowly  through  the  wood,  listening  to  the  birds,  talk 
ing  deliriously  caressing  nonsense  to  her  horse,  re 
joicing  with  a  keen  delight  in  the  wood-soents  and 
wood-sounds,  the  trembling  lights  and  shades,  the 
rosy  twin-flowers  along  the  way,  herself  as  full  of  the 
glow  and  stir  of  nature  as  any  blossom  of  them  all. 
The  fair,  vague  hopefulness  of  June  was  in  the 
child's  heart.  Like  June,  she  was  glad  in  her  yot.th 
and  strength,  and  full  of  eager  wonder  at  the  beauti 
ful  life  about  her.  Her  sensitive  soul  quivered  like 
the  tender  leaves  of  the  young  alders  she  lightly 
touched  with  her  whip  as  she  passed.  Her  sweet, 
tumultuous  thoughts  soared  as  high  as  the  wood- 
bird's  flight,  and,  like  it,  lost  themselves  in  far-off 
clouds. 

And  now  here  was  the  Den,  and  aunt  Weather- 
stone  preparing  the  heads  of  her  discourse.  Rose, 
feeling  the  need  of  exterior  aid  to  enable  her  to  meet 
the  enemy  on  equal  ground,  glanced  about,  seeking  a 
place  whereon  to  rest  a  nonchalant  elbow.  But  no 
mantlepiece  or  high  chair-back  was  there  to  support 
her  in  the  coming  ordeal.  The  little  room  was 
devoid  of  superfluous  furniture.  Only  Miss  Weath- 
erstone  in  her  low  chair  by  the  open  sunny  window, 
and  on  the  floor  a  great  prosaic  basket  of  unfinished 
work.  All  was  as  it  had  been  through  the  years. 
Yet  never  before  had  the  sober  old  orchard  over 
flowed  with  such  a  wonderful  foamy  sea  of  blossoms, 
never  had  the  bobolink  in  his  cage  sung  so  daring 
and  triumphant  a  note.  Even  the  familiar  well- 
sweep  wore  an  audacious  expression,  pointing  up 


8  AUNT  SERENA. 

suggestively  to  the  free  blue  sky ;  while  the  silent 
woman  in  the  corner  looked  colder,  harder,  nore 
pinched,  mere  exasperating  than  ever.  She  finished 
her  seam,  and  smoothed  it,  slowly  drawing  her 
thumb-nail  with  a  rasping  sound  the  whole  length  of 
the  linen.  Rose  felt  a  certain  sympathy  with  it. 
It  must  be  uncomfortable.  Any  thing  must  suffer 
under  aunt  Harriet's  thumb.  The  girl  flushed,  and 
tapped  her  foot  impatiently  with  her  riding- whip. 
How  long  was  she  to  be  summoned  to  this  chamber 
of  torture  ?  When  was  a  girl  ' '  grown  up  "  if  not 
at  seventeen?  Rank  rebellion  entered  her  soul ;  and, 
committing  what  Miss  Weatherstone  considered  an 
unpardonable  sin,  she  opened  fire. 

"  What  did  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  aunt  Har 
riet?"  she  asked  quietly.  "  You  sent  forme,  and 
I  came  at  once." 

Miss  Weatherstone  slowly  raised  her  eyes,  and 
looked  at  Rose  from  head  to  foot.  Miss  Weather- 
stone's  glance  was  not  usually  considered  genial  and 
reassuring.  A  woman,  meeting  it,  would  often 
involuntarily  raise  her  hand  to  adjust  perfectly 
orderly  hair-pins,  or  brush  imaginary  dust  from  her 
sleeve.  Brave  men,  well-seasoned  men  of  the  world, 
had  been  known  to  feel  extremely  ill  at  ease  in 
her  presence ;  while  shy  ones  were  apt  to  drop 
their  hats,  stumble  over  footstools,  and  tangle  the 
threads  of  their  conversation  in  inextricable  con 
fusion  before  the  steady  gaze  of  this  small,  quiet 
woman. 

To-day  her  dreaded  glance   had   without  doubt 


AUNT  SERENA.  9 

enough  to  prey  upon.  Eose  was  flushed  from  her 
ride,  and  the  wayward  morning  breezes  and  the  sun 
shine,  while  indignation  lent  a  still  deeper  glow  to 
her  warm  young  cheeks.  A  mutinous  lock  strayed 
over  her  left  shoulder.  A  green  twig  had  taken  up 
its  lawless  abode  on  the  rolling  rim  of  her  hat.  A 
rent  of  noble  dimensions  displayed  itself  freely  in 
the  front  of  her  riding-skirt.  She  had  dismounted 
in  the  woods,  and  easily  regained  the  saddle  by 
means  of  a  gnarled  stump ;  but  something  caught, 
and  there  was  an  ominous  sound  of  tearing.  It  was 
of  no  consequence,  she  thought ;  but  how  curious 
that  something  always  did  catch  on  the  way  to  aunt 
Harriet's,  when  more  than  at  any  other  time  one 
needed  to  look  irreproachable.  And  now  tradition 
and  force  of  habit  were  too  strong  for  her.  In  spite 
of  her  courage,  she  felt  conscious  of  that  rent  as  if 
it  were  a  sin  upon  her  soul.  Already  the  bobolink's 
note  had  grown  languid ;  the  sea  of  orchard-blos 
soms,  no  longer  rising  and  falling  in  rosy  waves, 
was  a  pale,  motionless  mass.  But  she  rallied.  Why 
should  she  be  discomfited  by  a  frozen  glance  ?  "Was 
she  to  be  put  in  a  dark  closet  to  meditate  upon 
her  misdemeanors,  as  if  it  were  ten  years  ago? 
Again  she  charged  gallantly. 

"  What  do  you  wish  to  say  to  me,  aunt  Har 
riot?"  she  went  on  recklessly.  "If  it's  nothing, 
after  all,  I  think  I'll  run  away  again.  Aloha  is  im 
patient.  The  flies  trouble  him." 

"Rosamond,"  remarked  Miss  Weatherstone dryly, 
"  I  am  at  a  loss  to  know  where  you  get  your  strange 


10  AUNT  SERENA. 

infatuation  for  horses .  Certainly  not  from  our  family. 
Grandmamma  "VVeatherstone  always  did  so  dislike  a 
horsey  girl." 

"Infatuation,  not  for  horses,  but  for  a  horse," 
laughed  Rose.  "  I  am  true  to  Aloha.  Your  grand 
mamma  TVeatherstone  might  have  liked  him,  too,  if 
she  could  have  ridden  him ;  but  he  probably  would 
have  thrown  her.  He  is  very  unexpected  in  his 
ways  now  and  then,"  she  added  in  a  matter-of-fact 
tone. 

This  irreverent  picture  of  the  pride  of  the  family 
kissing  the  dust  was  distasteful  in  the  extreme  to 
her  descendant,  who  was  said  to  strongly  resemble 
her.  Indeed,  in  an  uudeviating  severity  of  judg 
ment, —  which  she  was  wont  to  call  uprightness,  — 
in  a  preternaturally  sharp  perception  of  the  mote  in 
her  sister's  eye,  in  an  utter  inability  to  comprehend 
the  great,  sweet  gladness  of  youth,  and  its  lovely, 
faint  echoes  in  later  years,  in  a  certain  frosty  con 
descension  she  was  apt  to  extend  to  those  who  per 
mitted  themselves  to  be  patronized,  —  and  what  wo 
man  of  this  description  was  ever  without  her  little 
court  ?  —  and  in  the  delicate  aquiline  curve  of  the 
handsome  nose,  she  was  the  counterpart  of  her  de 
ceased  grandmother,  whose  manners  and  maxims 
she  quoted  upon  ah1  occasions.  "  Grandmamma  was 
a  Beaconswold  of  Boston,  you  know,"  she  would 
say  to  her  satellites,  in  her  dry,  monotonous  voice. 
"  The  Peter  Beaconswold  family,  not  the  James.  I 
am  said  to  have  the  Beaconswold  nose,"  raising  her 
handkerchief,  and  lightly  dusting  it  off  with  a  defer- 


AUNT  SERENA.  11 

ence  delightful  to  observe.  No  devotee  ever  ap 
proached  a  sacred  relic  more  reverently  than  Miss 
Weatherstone  her  aristocratic  Beaconswold  feature. 
There  were  two  other  points  of  resemblance  between 
these  two  daughters  of  one  race.  Although  one  had 
been  the  mother  of  a  large  family,  and  the  other  at 
the  ripe  age  of  sixty  was  still  a  spinster,  both  were 
born  old  maids ;  and  though,  according  to  the  im 
mutable  decree  of  nature,  they  were  undoubtedly 
once  infants,  it  is  no  less  true  that  neither  of  them 
was  ever  young. 

"  There  are  various  things  I  want  to  say  to  you, 
Rosamond,"  Miss  Weatherstone  went  on  with  her 
oppressive  air  of  infallibility.  "  If  Serena  Lennox 
doesn't  know  what  is  fitting  for  you,  happily  I  do." 

"  I  wish  you  would  please  leave  aunt  Serena  out 
of  the  conversation,"  said  Rose  quickly. 

"  That  I  shall  not  do,  as  I  consider  her  chiefly 
responsible  for  your  undignified  waj^s.  For  a  wo 
man  of  her  years,  her  conduct  towards  you  is  amaz 
ingly  weak,  I  may  well  say  culpable." 

"  What  has  she  ever  done  except  love  me  dearly, 
and  be  an  angel  to  me  ever  since  mamma  died  ?  ' ' 
said  Rose  hotly. 

"  It  is  to  what  she  has  not  done  that  I  object," 
Miss  Weatherstone  dryly  remarked.  "  Among  other 
things,  she  has  not  taught  you  to  control  your 
temper." 

Rose  looked  down  gravely,  then  smiled.  "  She 
does  not  know  I  have  one  to  control.  I  don't  think 
I  have  ever  had  any  at  home,  at  least,  since  I  was 


12  AUNT  SERENA. 

ten  years  old,  and  John  drowned  my  kittens.  Then 
I  was  furious.  But  I  always  do  seem  to  discover  it 
here,"  she  added  wickedly.  Then,  repenting,  she 
said  with  childlike  grace,  "I  beg  your  pardou, 
aunt  Harriet.  I  suppose  I  am  a  great  disappoint 
ment  to  you.  If  you  will  tell  me  what  I  have  done 
that  is  bad,  and  not  say  any  thing  about  dear  aunt 
Serena,  I  will  be  very  good,  and  listen  quietly." 

"You  have,  as  I  said,  undignified  wa}*s,  Rosa 
mond,"  went  on  the  inflexible  judge,  unmoved  by 
the  tender  youth  of  her  victim,  or  the  sweet,  appeal 
ing  voice.  "You  are  uncurbed.  One  feels  like 
reading  the  Riot  Act  over  you,  and  ordering  you  to 
disperse." 

Rose  opened  wondering  eyes.  "Am  I  like  a 
great,  turbulent  mob?"  she  thought. 

"  You  are  conspicuous.  To  be  conspicuous  is  to 
be  unladylike.  You  are  different  from  other  girls. 
People  look  at  you.  When  you  enter  a  room,  peo 
ple  know  it.  You  never  pass  unperceived,  as  others 
do.  The  fault  lies  in  you.  A  girl  of  your  age 
should  be  unobtrusive,  unseen." 

At  this  catalogue  of  her  iniquities,  Rose  felt  puz 
zled.  "That  is  what  I  am,  it  seems,"  she  said; 
"  but  what  do  I  do  that  is  wrong?  " 

"It  is  your  whole  bearing,  your  air,  yourself.  I 
have  been  watching  you  closely.  You  are  continu 
ally  doing  objectionable  things.  You  were  seen  talk 
ing  and  laughing  with  a  stranger  yesterday.  What 
have  you  to  say  to  that?  " 

"  Aunt  Harriet!     He  merely  asked  me  if  Judge 


AUNT  SEEENA.  13 

Eclmond's  place  was  on  the  river-road,  or  not.  He 
was  obliged  to  ask  somebody,  and  I  was  the  nearest 
person.  I  stood  by  the  schoolhouse-door.  All  the 
little  Kindergarten  children  came  tumbling  out. 
Aunt  Serena  was  speaking  with  old  Miss  Simpson. 
He  probably  thought  me  an  overgrown  child,  —  and 
he  was  really  quite  old,"  she  added  triumphantly. 
"  His  hair  was  not  exactly  gray,  but  gray 
ish." 

"  I  do  not  say  that  you  should  not  have  answered 
him,"  remarked  Miss  Weatherstone  in  a  judicial 
manner.  "  But  why  did  you  laugh?  Why  could 
you  not  have  answered  with  dignity?  " 

"  I  simply  said  he  must  go  by  the  river-road  ;  and 
then  Pet  Edmonds  rushed  forward,  and  seized  his 
hand,  and  said  she  would  take  him  to  her  papa's ; 
and  Jack  grew  red  in  the  face,  and  said  he  was  the 
boy,  and  he  ought  to :  the  gentleman  walked  off 
with  both  of  them  quarrelling  about  him.  He  was 
quite  grave,  but  his  eyes  twinkled.  Jack  was  eating 
taffy,  and  his  hand  looked  brown  and  sticky  ;  but  he 
insisted  upon  clasping  the  gentleman's  glove  never 
theless.  I  laughed  because  the  children  were  so 
comical.  What  is  a  strange  man  to  me?  "  she  said 
with  great  simplicity  and  quiet. 

"  You  need  not  have  laughed.  Your  manner  was 
undignified.  You  have  no  repose.  There  was  never 
a  Beaconswold  without  repose." 

Miss  Weatherstone's  voice  sounded  as  if  she  were 
reading  maxims  from  a  book,  with  rigid  observance 
of  the  marks  of  punctuation.  She  kept  her  voice  up 


14  AUNT  SEEENA. 

at  her  commas,  and  stopped  long  enough  to  count 
four  at  her  periods. 

Rose,  ill  at  ease,  conscious  of  injustice  somewhere, 
yet  generous  enough  to  feel  she  must  be  more  or  less 
at  fault,  or  such  things  could  not  be  said  to  her, 
made  a  poor  attempt  at  conciliation. 

' '  But  I  am  not  even  an  insignificant  fraction  of  a 
Beaconswold,  aunt  Harriet,"  she  said  gently. 

"  More's  the  pity,"  returned  Miss  Weatherstone. 
"  Beaconswold  and  lady  are  synonymous." 

"I  don't  like  to  have  you  say  that.  I  cannot 
believe  it  is  so  bad  as  that !  "  Rose  irrelevantly  ex 
claimed  with  a  vague  distress  on  her  face. 

"  I  say  what  I  think,"  said  Miss  Weatherstone 
coldly.  "  It  is  plainly  my  duty  to  tell  you  that  you 
lack  restraint,  repression.  May  I  inquire  what 
you  have  done  in  the  last  six  months  but  scour  the 
country  on  that  crazy  horse  of  yours  ?  And  usually, 
I  regret  to  say,  alone,  without  even  John." 

"  Why,  I've  read  hours  and  hours  every  day !  " 

"  Yes,  novels  and  poetry,"  sneered  her  aunt. 

"  But  such  novels  and  such  poetry !  "  cried  Rose, 
warming  with  her  subject.  "  George  Eliot  and 
William  Morris  and  ' '  — 

"  I  am  not  interested  in  your  list,  Rosamond.  Do 
not  trouble  yourself  to  repeat  it." 

"But  I've  finished  four  volumes  of  Macaulay, 
too,"  announced  the  young  girl  with  much  satisfac 
tion.  "And  as  to  my  riding  alone,  }'ou  know^  aunt 
Harriet,  that  poor  old  John  would  break  his  neck  if 
he  should  try  to  follow  me.  He  is  so  much  happier 


AUNT  SEEENA.  15 

pottering  in  the  garden.  And  why  should  I  not 
ride  alono  in  this  little  drowsy  place,  where  indeed, 
wherever  I  go,  I  am  usually  on  your  land  or  aunt 
Serena's,  and  everybodjr  knows  me?  " 

"  Because  it's  improper.  All  that  you  do  is  dis 
tinctively  improper.  Grandmamma  Weatherstone 
would  have  been  simply  appalled  at  the  way  Serena 
Lennox  has  brought  you  up." 

This  was  too  much.  The  girl's  eyes  flashed,  and 
she  said  hastily,  — 

"Aunt  Weatherstone,  I  have  always  wanted  to 
tell  you  that  I  think  your  grandmamma  Beaconswold- 
Weatherstone  must  have  been  an  extremely  disa 
greeable  old  woman  ;  and  I  don't  believe  dear  aunt 
Serena  would  have  minded  in  the  least  any  thing 
such  a  person  might  have  said  or  thought." 

Miss  Weatherstone  folded  her  work,  and  laid  it  in 
the  basket,  folded  her  slender  hands,  and  laid  them 
in  her  lap.  This  meant  war  to  the  knife. 

Rose  went  on  passionately,  "And  I  don't  think  I 
do  any  thing  papa  and  mamma  would  have  disap 
proved  of.  Aunt  Serena  says  I  do  not.  You 
always  make  me  so  uncomfortable  and  conscious. 
Do  you  call  it  well  bred  to  be  conscious  ?  What  is 
the  real  matter  with  me?  What  don't  you  like?  I 
know  what  it  all  means,  aunt  Harriet.  You  don't 
like  me,"  she  said  squarely. 

"  I  cannot  say  that  I  find  your  nature  congenial, 
Rosamond,"  remarked  the  older  woman  in  her  meas 
ured  accents. 

"  But  I  am  my  nature  !  "  returned  the  girl  impetu- 


16  AUNT  SEEENA. 

ously.  "And  why  have  I  not  the  right  to  be  my 
self  ?  See  ! ' '  and  she  pointed  out  the  window  with 
a  little  impassioned  gesture,  "  it  all  makes  me  glad, 
wild  with  joy.  A  morning  like  this,  and  my  feet 
scarcely  touch  the  ground.  But  it  is  that  which  you 
don't  like,"  she  said,  with  unconscious  acuteness. 
"  Is  it  wrong  to  be  so  glad  as  I,  when  the  world  is 
so  beautiful  —  so  beautiful  ?  ' '  she  repeated  dreamily  ; 
and  the  well-sweep  pointed  significantly  towards  dis 
tant  hazy  heights. 

Miss  Weatherstone  looked  at  her  with  singular 
disapproval. 

' '  What  on  earth  has  ah1  this  to  do  with  the  sub 
ject?  I  merely  make  a  well-timed  suggestion  as  to 
your  manners,  and  you  find  it  necessary  to  put  in  a 
plea  for  your  existence,  in  your  exaggerated  dra 
matic  fashion.  Really,  Rosam.ond',  you  are  most  un 
pleasantly  demonstrative.  You  grow  more  like  youi 
mother  every  day." 

"Ah!"  cried  Rose,  with  a  low,  intense  note  of 
pain  and  expostulation,  the  color  and  eagerness  fad 
ing  from  her  face.  Then  she  said  solemnly,  "I 
would  rather  be  like  mamma  than  like  any  one  else 
who  ever  lived." 

There  was  silence  in  the  little  room.  Did  Miss 
Weatherstone  feel  that  she  had  gone  too  far?  She 
quietly  took  up  her  work  again,  and  after  some 
moments  said,  as  she  deliberately  threaded  her 
needle,  — 

"After  this  exhibition  I  presume  it  is  useless  to 
tell  you  my  especial  reason  for  sending  for  you  to- 


AUNT  SERENA.  17 

day.  But  I  will  still  give  you  the  chance.  I  wish 
to  be  just.  As  you  are  aware,  I  have  always  looked 
upon  you  and  Harold  as  joint  heirs  of  the  Weather- 
stone  estate  ;  but,  as  you  also  know,  the  matter  lies 
wholly  in  my  hands." 

Rose's  manner  had  repose  enough  now.  She  was 
looking  at  her  aunt  gravely  and  somewhat  absently. 

"Nothing  has  been  kept  secret  from  you.  You 
know,  too,  very  well,  my  wish  in  regard  to  yourself 
and  Harold." 

Rose  gave  a  little  start,  and  was  about  to  speak, 
but  checked  herself. 

"And  you  have  always  known,  that,  while  your 
father,  for  sentimental  reasons  of  his  own,  wished 
Serena  Lennox  to  have  the  direction  of  you  as  a 
child,  you  would  be  allowed  when  older  to  choose  be 
tween  us.  I  therefore. now  propose,  since  I  strongly 
disapprove  of  your  present  training,  or  rather  total 
absence  of  training,  that  you  place  yourself  under 
my  guidance,  and  give  me  the  opportunity  of  at 
least  attempting  to  make  you  what  }rou  ought  to  be, 
to  enter  upon  the  duties  that  would  devolve  upon 
you  with  this  property.  I  should  not  object  to  your 
seeing  your  aunt  Serena  at  proper  intervals,  but  " — 

"  I  leave  her,  and  come  here  to  live  with  you  !  " 
exclaimed  the  astonished  girl,  with  unflattering  em 
phasis. 

"  That  is  what  I  said.    Otherwise  the  property  " — 

"The  property"  had  no  more  meaning  for  Rose 
than  any  word  in  an  unknown  tongue,  except  that 
she  had  found  the  early  May-flowers  in  the  prop- 


18  AUNT  SERENA. 

erty's  woods,  climbed  the  property's  trees,  waded 
in  the  property's  brooks,  and  otherwise  enjoyed  the 
property's  advantages  all  her  life.  The  one  thing 
that  touched  her  was  the  absurdity  of  talking  about 
seeing  aunt  Serena  at  proper  intervals. 

"I  could  not  live  anywhere  without  her,"  she 
said  simply.  "  You  must  know  that  I  could  not." 

A  moment's  silence.  Miss  Weatherstone  cut  her 
thread  with  a  curious  snap,  like  a  grim  old  fate. 

"  Then  there  is  nothing  more  to  say,  except  that 
you  need  not  come  here  any  more,  Rosamond." 

' '  Do  you  mean  I  am  not  to  come  here  at  all  ?  " 
asked  Rose  in  wide-eyed  wonder. 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Weatherstone,  rising.  She 
stood  beside  her  niece,  and  the  two  looked  directly 
at  each  other.  The  older  woman  was  the  shorter. 
The  girl  turned  grieved  eyes  full  of  questioning 
upon  the  impassive  face  before  her,  then,  — 

"I  am  soriy,"  she  faltered,  and  without  another 
word  left  the  room. 

Harriet  Weatherstone  heard  her  call  her  horse, 
"Aloha !  come,  Aloha  !  "  and  in  a  moment  saw  her 
riding  slowly  down  the  avenue.  What  was  this 
curious  sensation  ?  An  impulse  to  call  that  retreat 
ing  figure  back?  Impossible.  Miss  Weatherstone 
never  experienced  any  thing  so  uugenteel  as  an  Im 
pulse,  and  she  had  done  her  duty  to  Rosamond. 
The  girl  was  hot-tempered,  ungrateful,  and  obsti 
nate.  Still,  she  watched  the  lightly  swaying  figure 
out  of  sight.  How  slowly  she  was  riding  away. 
Aloha  !  Idiotic  name  for  a  horse. 


AUNT  SERENA.  19 

The  Beaconswold  feature  looked  a  trifle  more 
pinched  that  day,  the  lips  beneath  it  thinner  thaii 
ever,  and  Solomon's  virtuous  woman  could  by  no 
means  have  watched  her  handmaids  so  narrowly. 

"  How  fast  Miss  Harriet  do  age,  to  be  sure,"  re 
marked  the  cook  of  twenty  years'  standing,  to  the 
gardener.  "  And  she's  just  that  particklar  like  !  " 

Miss  Weatherstone  was  not  an  imaginative  person  ; 
yet  many  times  that  day  she  seemed  to  see  a  figure 
vanishing  beneath  the  drooping  elms,  and  more  than 
once  she  heard  the  fresh,  young  call,  "  Aloha  ! 
Aloha ! ' '  clear  as  a  bird-note  echoing  through  the 
still  air :  and  the  day  grew  cloudy  and  dull. 

Something  had  gone  out  of  her  life.  She  remem 
bered  that  Rose  had  looked  at  the  last  singularly 
like  her  father.  She  shivered.  "  These  evenings 
are  cool  for  the  season,"  she  said,  drawing  a  prim 
little  three-cornered  gray  shawl  over  her  shoulders. 


20  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  H. 

,,9Jletn  fiotjeS  Ulofj,  mem  treue§  9lofj, 
SDir  flage  idj  all  tnein  Cetb." 

"  Blessing  she  is;  God  made  her  so: 
And  deeds  of  week-day  holiness 
Fall  from  her  noiseless  as  the  snow; 
Nor  hath  she  ever  chanced  to  know 
That  aught  were  easier  than  to  hless." 

LOWELL. 

ROSE  rode  slowly  through  the  woods,  listless, 
drooping,  and  grieved  to  the  heart.  She  gave 
Aloha  loose  rein ;  and  he,  indulging  in  no  playful 
pranks  as  was  his  wont,  walked  along  in  a  subdued 
and  sympathetic  manner  highly  commendable  in  an 
animal  of  his  exuberant  spirit.  "We  must  consider 
this  matter  thoughtfully,"  was  the  language  of  his 
sagacious  eyes.  Rose  stopped  in  a  favorite  nook, 
where  a  monarch  of  the  forest  lay  low  across  the 
path,  and  a  tiny  brook,  half  hidden  by  tall  ferns, 
ceaselessly  sang  his  requiem.  There  was  quiet  here. 
—  the  stillness  that  can  best  soothe  a  restless  heart 
She  sprang  lightly  down,  and  then,  because  she  was 
a  child,  and  hurt,  wept  her  childish,  passionate  tears  ; 
and  because  a  child  clings  to  something  it  loves,  for 
the  mere  comfort  of  the  clinging,  she  flung  her  slen 
der  arms  round  Aloha's  glossy  neck,  and  sobbed 


AUNT  SEEENA.  21 

aloud,  and  —  O  shade  of  grandmamma  Beacons- 
wold- Wcathcrstone  !  —  actuall}'  kissed  his  satin  skin, 
murmuring  many  fond  and  foolish  names. 

Aloha  pricked  up  his  ears.  Some  one  was  ap 
proaching.  Rose,  absorbed  in  her  griefs,  her  cheek 
pressed  close  against  her  horse,  saw  no  vigilant  ears, 
heard  no  footstep  on  the  other  side  of  the  brook.  A 
grave  face  looked  through  the  trees  towards  the 
slight,  sobbing  figure  in  its  attitude  of  unrestrained 
grief. 

"  She  too  !  "  thought  the  stranger.  "  The  happy 
little  girl  I  saw  yesterday,  sobbing  her  very  heart 
away  in  the  solitude  of  the  woods.  Poor  child ! 
Why  do  you  weep  so  bitterly?  Have  you,  too, 
found  out  that  your  doll  is  stuffed  with  sawdust?" 

He  was  strongly  moved  to  part  the  dense  under 
growth  where  he  was  standing,  step  across  the 
thread-like  brooklet,  put  a  fatherly  hand  on  her 
shoulder,  and  ask  gently,"  — 

"  What  is  the  matter,  little  girl?  Don't  cry  so. 
It's  really  not  worth  while." 

"  She  would  not  thank  me.  I  should  only  startle 
and  displease  her." 

Yet  he  lingered  long  enough  to  mark  the  slight, 
supple  figure  in  its  abandonment,  the  delicate  profile 
against  the  bowed  neck  of  the  powerful  black  horse, 
the  fallen  lock  of  reddish  chestnut  hair  lying  on  her 
shoulder  and  glistening  like  bronze  in  the  sunshine, 
even  the  rent  in  her  simple  blue  habit,  while  flicker 
ing  lights  played  lovingly  over  her,  and  a  bird  above 
called  his  mate  in  one  long,  thrilling  note. 


22  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  Child !  Young  fresh  heart !  Sob  out  your  grief 
and  be  comforted.  If  we  world- worn  souls  could  do 
the  same,  the  dull,  weary  pain  might  not  last  so 
long."  And  smiling  half  kindly,  half  bitterly,  he 
went  on  ;  and  only  Aloha  knew  that  some  one  had 
passed. 

His  ears  relaxed.  He  drooped  his  head,  with  pro 
tection  and  indulgence  in  his  mien. 

"We  must  have  this  out,  and  then  we'll  feel 
better,"  said  the  soul  that  looked  out  of  his  deep, 
wise  eyes. 

"You  blessed  Aloha,  you  love,  you  dear!  "  said 
the  girl  softly.  "  They  do  not  try  to  make  you  pre 
tend  that  you  are  a  lap-dog  or  a  cat,  or  any  thing 
nature  never  meant  you  to  be." 

"I  should  think  not,"  said  the  proud  arch  of 
Aloha's  neck.  "  Lap-dog,  indeed  !  " 

"They  don't  blame  you  because  you  are  not  a 
plodding  cart-horse.  They  leave  you  free,  hero  that 
you  are.  And  you  need  only  associate  with  me,  the 
person  you  love  best.  Now,  suppose  they  should 
try  to  make  you  sing  like  a  nightingale,  or  crawl  like 
a  lizard,  or  run  up  a  tree  like  a  monkey,  — you'd  hate 
it,  and  be  wretched,  would  you  not?  "  She  smiled 
through  her  tears,  pleased  with  her  reasoning., 

Aloha  responded  by  a  look  of  imperturbable  dig 
nity. 

"  No  ?  You'd  not  be  wretched  ?  ' '  The  tears  still 
trembling  on  her  lashes,  she  stepped  back  for  a  better 
view  of  her  comrade. 

"Would  you  be  above  caring  for  them?    You 


AUNT  SERENA.  23 

would  make  concessions,  yes.  Even  now  you  let 
little  me  curb  your  strength  and  restrain  your  flying 
feet ;  but  if  they  should  wish  to  make  you  a  fright 
ened,  foolish  thing,  instead  of  your  bold,  brave  self, 
what  then,  my  beauty?  " 

Was  it  only  a  fish  leaping  in  the  brook,  was  it 
a  rustling  in  the  willows  on  the  other  bank,  or  a 
squirrel  in  the  branches  above,  or  why  did  Aloha,  at 
this  instant,  interrupt  his  young  mistress's  eloquence 
by  giving  a  mighty  plunge  ?  and  why  did  he  then 
stand  with  ears  erect,  eyes  on  the  alert,  proud 
nostrils  dilated,  slender  forelegs  firm  and  motion 
less  as  marble,  and  poised,  as  if  the  suspicion  of  a 
bond  would  send  him  bounding  through  space  ? 

To  the  eager  soul  awaiting  auguries,  auguries 
always  come.  Will  one  go  to  the  East?  Then  all 
the  tall  reeds  and  rushes  bend  eastwards ;  and  the 
many  voices  of  the  night-breeze  murmur  only,  "  To 
the  East,  to  the  East!  "  Will  one  hasten  to  the 
South?  Then  the  birds  and  the  clouds  and  the 
butterflies  and  the  thistle-down  float  southwards ; 
and  every  wave  sighs,  "  The  South !  "  as  it  breaks 
on  the  sands  at  one's  feet. 

The  girl's  face  flushed.  He  means  he  would  fly 
away,  far,  far  away.  What  else  told  me  the  same 
story  to-day?  Why,  the  old  well-sweep.  It  can 
not  go  itself;  so  it  points  and  points,  with  its  long 
arm.  But,  Aloha,  I  can  go  !  I  will  go ! 

"  Aloha !  "  The  horse  turned,  and  came  soberly 
back  to  her,  repenting  of  his  momentary  excitement. 

"You  would  run  away  from  them,  but  not  from 


24  AUNT  SEEENA. 

me,"  she  said,  gravely.  "  I  know  you  only  did  ii 
to  show  me,  my  dear ;  but  one  mustn't  even  seem  to 
turn  from  one's  friends." 

She  scrambled  into  her  saddle  as  best  she  could. 
She  did  not  spring  lightly  from  the  ground  to  a 
height  equal  to  her  own,  after  the  approved  fashion 
of  the  heroines  of  novels  when  obliged  to  mount 
without  assistance,  and  would  no  doubt  have  found 
this  gymnastic  feat  difficult,  if  not  impossible,  as 
would  most  girls  not  specially  trained  for  the  acro 
batic  profession. 

Then,  with  resolve  and  hope  shining  out  of  her 
sweet  young  face,  she  rode  brightly  away. 

"  I  will  have  a  good  trot  on  the  river-road,  that  I 
may  not  take  home  foolish  red  eyelids  to  distress 
aunt  Serena.  And  I  will  mature  my  plans.  Con 
spirators  always  mature  their  plans.  Come,  Aloha ! 
Like  a  bird,  now,  my  beauty  !  " 

On  she  went,  following  the  widening  brook,  till 
Aloha's  hoofs  sounded  on  the  little  bridge  that 
crossed  it  lower  down.  Some  one  stood  there,  idly 
watching  the  water.  He  turned,  and  took  off  his 
hat  as  she  rode  swiftly  by.  Absorbed  in  her 
thoughts,  she  was  not  conscious  of  his  greeting  until 
it  was  too  late  to  acknowledge  it ;  and  the  fleeting 
remembrance  that  he  was  the  person  who  had  been 
the  subject  of  the  Edmonds  children's  contention, 
yielded  to  the  more  important  matters  occupying  her 
mind. 

"Ah,  my  pretty  little  maid-in-a-mist !  Does 
your  sun  shine  so  soon?" 


AUNT  SERENA.  25 

He  watched  her,  with  a  somewhat  amused  smile, 
till  she  turned  off  on  another  road  and  disappeared. 

"  A  lovely  child,  and  a  spirited  rider.  I  must  ask 
Edmonds  who  she  is." 

But  as  he  and  Judge  Edmonds  chatted  over  the.r 
wine  that  evening,  and  then  gradually  advanced  to 
business  and  law-papers,  the  little  episode  of  the 
morning  passed  from  his  memory  ;  and  dry  docu 
ments  shut  out  the  tender  vision  of  a  girl's  wet, 
wistful  eyes. 

Meanwhile  Eosamond  had  her  trot,  and  came  home 
radiant,  but  with  a  certain  restlessness  quivering 
about  her  lips.  Would  aunt  Serena,  or  would  she 
not?  That  was  the  question. 

"  Where  is  Miss  Lennox?  "  she  asked,  as  she  rode 
past  what  was  once  a  porter's  lodge,  but  was  now 
occupied  by  the  gardener,  porter,  and  groom,  ah1  in 
one, — John,  the  ancient  servitor,  who  dropped  his 
hoe  to  take  Aloha's  bridle,  as  she  quickly  dis 
mounted. 

"  If  she  ain't  a-doin'  the  sweet  pease,  she's  at 
the  glories,  Miss  Rosamond,"  remarked  John,  with 
dignity;  "an'  if  she  ain't  at  the  glories,  she's 
a-takin'  of  a  promenade  in  the  garding  some- 
whercs." 

Rose  glanced  hastily  in  the  low,  wide-open  win 
dows  as  she  passed  the  irregular,  pretty,  roomy  cot 
tage,  almost  stooping  under  its  heavy  mantle  of 
woodbine,  and  looking,  with  its  curious  wings  added 
here  and  there  in  whimsical,  irrelevant  fashion,  aa 
if  the  house  itself  had  developed  a  vine-like  propen- 


26  AUNT  SERENA. 

sity  for  straggling  over  the  ground,  rather  than  that 
its  owners  had  been  responsible  for  such  unaccount 
able  wanderings. 

In  the  broad,  middle  walk,  between  her  sweet  pease 
and  morning  glories,  aunt  Serena  was  walking  up 
and  down  with  her  gentle,  deliberate  step.  She 
turned  as  she  heard  Rose's  rapid  footfall,  giving  her 
a  loving  smile,  and  at  the  same  time  the  quick,  keen 
glance  with  which  she  habitually  met  her  darling. 
"Is  it  well  with  thee  ? ' '  asked  the  faithful  eyes 
after  every  absence.  "  Fairy  god-mother,"  Rose 
often  called  her  aunt ;  and  there  was  indeed  a  quaint, 
rare  charm  in  the  small,  slightly  bowed  figure,  the 
softly  waving  white  hair,  the  large,  brown  eyes  so 
tenderly  humorous,  so  sad  and  so  wise.  Even  her 
frail  hands  had  a  dainty  grace  of  their  own  ;  and  her 
whole  presence  diffused  the  benign  and  subtle  influ 
ences  of  old-time  courtesy,  the  repose  of  a  beautiful 
spirit,  and  the  freshness  of  feeling  and  innocence  of 
instinct  commonly  attributed  only  to  youth. 

The  tall  girl  put  her  two  arms  around  her  aunt. 

"  Fairy  god-mother,  do  you  love  me?  " 

"  You  have  something  to  tell  me,  and  something 
to  ask  me,  have  you  not,  my  dear?  " 

"O  wisest  of  women,  I  have.  Auntie,  you  are 
as  wise  as  the  three  Nornes  together ;  for  you  know 
the  past,  present,  and  future  all  at  once.''" 

"But  you  always  have  something  to  tell  and  ^o 
ask,  child." 

' '  Then  let  j'our  magic  reveal  what  it  is  at  this 
moment.  Oh !  there  are  strange  things  in  the  air, 


AUNT  SERENA.  27 

muvmurings  and  whisperings  and  beckonings,  and 
even  dumb  things  have  spoken." 

"  They  often  speak,"  said  Miss  Lennox,  smiling. 
' '  But  I  need  no  special  incantation  to  divine  at  least 
a  part  of  your  marvellous  morning.  Aunt  Weather- 
stone  was  tiying,  and  my  Rose  showed  her  thorns." 

Rose  kissed  her  aunt's  hands  in  grave  acknowl 
edgment,  then  retorted  gayly,  — 

"  But  I  really  do  not  know  the  exact  amount  of 
deference  due  to  unpleasant  relatives,  particularly 
when  they  are  only  one's  father's  half-sister,  and 
have  aggravating  Beacons  wold  features." 

"  Dear  child,  does  it  help  matters  to  be  " — 

"Flippant?  Yes,  for  if  I  make. silly  jokes  they 
may  keep  silly  tears  out  of  my  eyes.  I  don't  wish 
to  accuse  her  unjustly  when  she  isn't  here  to  defend 
herself;  but  —  there — you  know  what  she  is  your 
self  !  "  exclaimed  Rose,  with  a  desperate  struggle 
between  her  wish  to  please  one  aunt,  and  an  unholy 
inclination  to  give  the  other  one  her  deserts. 

"Yes,  I  know,  certainly,"  answered  Miss  Len 
nox  very  gravely.  "  Who  better?  " 

"And  indeed  I  tried  not  to  be  bad  this  morning, 
but  nothing  was  right.  First  Aloha  received  her 
condemnation,  then  my  uncouth  wa}'s,  and  then  you, 
a&  responsible  for  all  my  misdemeanors." 

"Ah?"  and  Miss  Lennox  smiled,  with  no  shade 
of  resentment  on  her  quiet  face. 

"  I  was  not  a  very  pleasing  object,  as  you  see  ; " 
and  Rose  ruefully  lifted  her  skirt,  and  smoothed  the 
gaping  rent  with  solicitude  ;  then,  letting  the  heavy 


28  AUNT  SEEENA. 

folds  fall  as  they  would,  she  went  on  rapidly,  "  But 
I  came  in  full  of  the  morning,  and  she  was  so  quiet 
and  cold  and  still,  it  was  torture  to  be  in  her  pres 
ence.  She  has  that  di'eadful  way  of  never  believing 
in  you,  and  never  making  any  allowance  for  acci 
dents.  She  looked  at  me  as  if  I  had  pulled  down 
my  hair  and  torn  my  habit  out  of  pure  disrespect  to 
her.  Oh,  she  does  make  me  bad !  I  should  grow 
to  be  a  criminal  of  the  deepest  dye  if  I  should  live 
with  her !  I  should  be  a  Lucretia  Borgia  —  a  Mes- 
salina  —  a  ' ' — 

"And  then,  my  dear?  "  asked  Miss  Lennox,  reach 
ing  up  and  taking  off  Rose's  hat,  relieving  it  of  its 
twigs,  gently  patting  it  into  shape.  Her  hand,  as  it 
passed,  lingered  on  the  girl's  cheek  :  its  light,  tender 
touch  quieted  her. 

"And  then?  "  she  repeated.  "  Not  much  to  tell. 
I  hardly  know.  I  looked  out  into  the  free  world, 
and  loved  it.  I  looked  at  her,  and  could  not  love 
her.  The  very  way  her  hair  grows  on  her  temples 
irritates  me.  She  said  I  was  too  much  like  mamma 
She  said  something  about  Harold,  —  the  old  story, 
you  know ;  then  at  last  she  said  she  wished  me  to 
come  to  her,  see  you  at  proper  intervals,  —  proper 
intervals,  do  you  hear,  auntie?  —  be  guided  by  her, 
and  learn  how  to  be  a  lady  ! ' ' 

' '  Was  that  all  ? "  inquired  Miss  Lennox  pla 
cidly. 

"I  believe  she  said  something  about  the  estate, 
but  I  was  too  angry  to  listen.  I  lost  my  temper, 
and  caught  it,  like  a  ball  in  the  ah-,  all  the  time 


AUNT  SERENA.  29 

she  was  speaking.  I  did  have  one  satisfaction.  I 
told  her  grandmamma  Weatherstone  must  have  been 
an  uncommonly  disagreeable  old  woman  ;  and  when 
I  said  it,  the  fetters  of  years  seemed  to  drop  from 
my  soul.  It  rose,  and  stretched  its  wings." 

"  Oh,  child,  child !  "  remonstrated  Miss  Lennox, 
with  a  perceptible  twinkle  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  aunt  Serena,"  Rose  hesitated,  played  with 
her  whip,  gathered  up  her  riding-skirt  and  let  it  fall 
again,  turned,  pulled  a  sweet  pea  and  closely  exam 
ined  its  tiny  crimson  veins  —  "  the  end  of  it  all  is, 
—  she  has  forbidden  me  the  house." 

Miss  Lennox  gave  a  slight  start,  and  looked  off 
towards  the  belt  of  sentinel-like  oaks  which  encir 
cled  the  little  estate.  Gazing  up  into  the  tree-tops, 
she  saw  them  not.  She  was  looking  back  into  the 
days  of  her  youth,  seeing  faces  long  since  vanished, 
hearing  voices  forever  hushed. 

"So  bitter!  Is  she  still  so  bitter?"  she  mur 
mured,  then  turned  to  Rose.  Lovely  and  warm  as 
the  sunshine,  sensitive,  full  of  response,  variable  on 
the  surface  because  of  her  many  girlish  moods,  but 
brave  and  steadfast  at  heart,  aud  still  looking  with 
such  large,  wondering  child-eyes  at  life,  how  could 
one  of  her  own  kin  be  cruel  to  her ! ' ' 

"  My  dear,"  was  all  the  little  old  lady  said,  but 
with  a  world  of  tenderness. 

Quick,  hot  tears  filled  the  girl's  eyes.  She  went 
on  rapidly,  — 

"I  don't  know  why  it  hurt  me  so.  I  certainly 
don't  love  aunt  Harriet  enough  to  care  whether  I 


30  AUNT  SERENA. 

ever  see  her  again,  or  the  old  house  either ;  but  still, 
it  seemed  to  take  a  part  of  my  life  away  from  me. 
And  to  be  ordered  out  of  her  sight,  out  of  papa's 
old  home,  was  like  a  curse.  She  is  a  cruel,  3ruel 
woman !  " 

Miss  Lennox  sat  down  in  a  rustic  garden-chair, 
leaned  her  head  against  its  high  back,  and  turned 
her  pale,  pained  face  away  from  Rose. 

Then  she  began  slowly,  — 

"  It  was  not  a  curse,  Rosamond.  It  was  only 
disappointment.  You  can  well  afford  to  forgive  her 
for  her  harshness,  because  life  is  beautiful  to  you, 
and  hers  is  dreary  and  desolate.  You  do  not  even 
need  to  be  generous  to  forgive  her.  I  cannot  say 
that  I  have  not  found  her  unlovely.  But  she  has 
been  a  disappointed  woman  all  her  days  ;  and  no  one 
has  ever  loved  her,  although  she  has  ruled  many  by 
force  of  her  strong,  imperious  nature.  There  is 
much  I  could  tell  }'ou,  but  you  are  too  young. ' ' 

"  Oh,  tell  me!"  pleaded  Rose,  kneeling  at  her 
aunt's  feet,  resting  her  suddenly  laughing  face  on 
her  arms  like  a  Raphael  cherub.  "  You  can't  mean 
there  was  ever  such  a  thing  as  a  romance  in  aunt 
Harriet's  life?  Was  she  ever  in  love  ?  "  asked  the 
girl,  amused  and  incredulous.  "  Did  she,  aunt  Har 
riet  Weatherstone,  ever  actually  want  any  one  to 
love  her,  —  man,  woman,  or  child?  " 

"  Dear,  every  one  wants  to  be  loved.  At  least  it 
seems  so  to  me  ;  though  I  don't  always  feel  sure  of 
my  own  theories,  I  have  made  so  many  mistakes," 
Miss  Lennox  replied  in  her  thoughtful  way. 


AUNT  SERENA.  31 

"  You  don't  set  yourself  up  on  the  cross-roads  of 
life,  like  a  great,  human  sign-post,  to  tell  eveiybody 
where  to  go  ;  but  you  are  always  right  nevertheless," 
cried  loyal  little  Rose. 

Her  aunt  smiled,  and  continued  mildly  expounding 
her  theories.  "  I  think  we  all  crave  love,  whether 
we  know  it  or  not,  and  whatever  perverse  method 
we  adopt  to  wound  it,  to  drive  it  away,  to  tread  it 
under  our  feet,  to  bar  and  bolt  the  strong  doors  of 
our  hearts  against  its  pleading  face  and  outstretched 
hands." 

"  Even  aunt  Harriet  ?  "  asked  Rose  demurely. 

"  Even  aunt  Harriet.  Why,  my  dear,  once  I 
knew  an  elderly  woman,  reared  in  the  straitest  sect 
of  New-England  Puritanism.  In  her  family  no  child 
received  a  good-night  kiss,  no  bright,  gracious  ways 
illumined  the  colorless  routine  of  daily  life.  And 
suddenly  a  strange  chance  sent  to  her  care  a  little 
child,  of  her  name  and  race  it  is  true,  yet  farther 
from  her  in  the  sweet,  sunny  influences  of  its  birth 
than  the  distant  clime  where  it  was  born.  It  was 
an  enchanting,  spirited  little  being,  who  had  known 
only  the  incense  and  adoration  offered  at  the  baby's 
altar  in  every  bapp}7  home.  The  little  four-year-old 
waif  was  brought  in  late  at  night,  after  a  long  jour 
ney,  and  placed  on  the  knee  of  this  woman,  whom 
even  her  undemonstrative  family  thought  austere. 
"Was  the  child's  instinct  duller,  or  keener,  than  it 
seemed?  She  blinked  at  the  lights,  stared  at  the 
strange  people  and  the  strange  room,  then,  with  the 
divine  smile  of  a  cherub,  so  sure  was  she  of  love, 


32  AUNT  SERENA. 

turned  her  back  upon  it  all  as  if  to  shut  out  the 
strangeness,  threw  her  soft  arms  round  the  neck  of 
her  new  guardian,  nestled  close  to  the  prim  breast, 
leaving  her  queer  little  open-mouthed,  baby  kisses 
wherever  her  dewy  lips  touched  the  old,  unlovely 
throat,  and,  with  a  drowsy  coo,  murmured,  '  Milly's 
sleepy.  Poo'  Milly !  Put  Hilly  to  bed.'  " 

"  And  what  did  old  Miss  Prim  do?  "  asked  Rose. 
"  Aunt  Harriet  would  have  said,  in  her  most  didactic 
manner,  '  Children  should  never  be  sleepy  until  they 
are  told  to  be,'  and  frightened  the  poor  little  dear 
into  convulsions." 

"  She  said  nothing,  and  showed  nothing  of  what 
she  felt.  She  merely  rose  mechanically ;  and  her 
hands,  unused  to  such  tender  work,  laid  the  little 
thing  in  its  bed.  She  did  not  melt  much  outwardly, 
that  night  or  afterwards.  It  is  chiefly  in  books  and 
on  the  stage  that  people  reform  perceptibly  on  ac 
count  of  so  slight  a  thing  as  the  touch  of  a  child's 
hand.  After  sixty  years  of  crustiness,  however 
sound  people's  feelings  are  at  the  root,  they  don't 
begin  to  blossom  like  the  rose.  But  the  child  won, 
and  love  won.  Many  a  time  I  have  seen  her,  in  later 
years,  pat  her  cousin's  shoulder  affectionately,  throw 
her  arm  round  the  angular  figure,  and  give  it  a  little 
girlish  hug ;  and  though  she  never  received  any 
actual  response  other  than  '  Don't  be  foolish,  Mil 
dred,'  often  indeed  an  awkward,  half  shy  look,  as 
the  only  answer  to  a  caress,  still,  the.  girl  won.  Her 
loving,  laughing,  dauntless  ways  ruled  the  silent 
house.  When  her  fearless  hand  smoothed  that  with- 


AUNT  SEEENA.  33 

ered  cheek,  a  suffused  look  in  the  faded  eyes  tJbove 
it  was  the  equivalent  of  a  flush  of  joy  in  a  youthful 
face.  And  don't  you  suppose  the  older  woman 
sorrowed  silently  that  she  had  been  trained  in  too 
stern  a  school  to  be  able  to  learn,  •  so  late,  love's 
gracious,  kindly  ways?  I  am  sure  she  did.  Ah !  if 
we  only  knew  how  to  batter  down  the  fortifications 
round  seemingly  hard  old  hearts,  we  should  not 
always  find  them  enemies." 

"  I  don't  believe  any  amount  of  battering  would 
help  matters  much  with  aunt  Harriet,"  remarked 
Rose  wickedly.  "  Now,  wasn't  I  an  enchanting 
child,  and  wasn't  I  sleepy  often  enough,  and  hungry 
too  ?  But  I  never  moved  her  ossified  sensibilities . ' ' 

"Rose,  dear,  }'ou  were  a  loving,  daring  child. 
You  ought  to  have  won.  You  would  have  won,  if  I 
had  not  been  there.  You  see,  I  have  always  been 
an  annoyance  to  her  ;  and  her  life  has  been  one  con 
tinual  disappointment.  She  was  reared  in  a  hard, 
rigid  fashion ;  then,  the  man  for  whom  she  cared, 
who  perhaps  might  have  made  her  life  sweeter  and 
richer,  happened  to  care  for  some  one  else."  There 
was  an  almost  imperceptible  tremor  in  the  gentle 
voice,  then  a  pause.  "After  that,  her  young  brother, 
to  whom,  in  her  way,  she  was  attached,  fell  in  love 
with  my  little  sister,  and  married  her.  This  was 
the  worst  of  all ;  since,  as  you  know,  the  Weath- 
erstones  and  the  Lennoxes  have  alwa^ys  been  the 
Montagues  and  Capulets  of  Northbrooke,"  and  on 
the  little  lady's  lips  played  her  fine,  humorous  smile  : 
' '  but  for  my  part  it  seems  to  me  too  absurd  for  two 


34  AUNT  SERENA. 

old  maids,  in  two  more  or  less  stu  bby  old  houses, 
to  try  to  perpetuate  the  foolish  quarrels  of  a  couple 
of  hot-headed  men  nearly  a  century  ago.  Old  Miss 
Capulet  is,  I  confess,  a  mean-spirited  person,  and 
has  frequently  asked  old  Miss  Montague  to  tea  ;  but 
Miss  Montague  has  proper  pride,  and  wishes  to  pre 
serve  the  ancient  traditions." 

"  Dear,  blessed,  little  Miss  Serena  Capulet,"  said 
Rose  softly. 

"And,  finally,  you  are  like  your  mamma;  and 
then,  you  love  me.  Every  thing  has  gone  against  her 
will,  and  her  will  is  adamant ;  so  for  years  she  Las 
been"— 

"  Petrifying !  "  put  in  Rose  with  emphasis. 

"  How  can  she  help  it?  "  said  Miss  Lennox  med 
itatively.  "I  fear  I  am  less  orthodox  than  Mr. 
Lathrop  might  wish,  but  can  she  soften?  I  am 
sorry  for  her.  But  can  Maitland's  cliff  transform 
itself  into  rich  meadow-land  ?  Perhaps, ' '  she  mused, 
"  in  the  long,  mysterious  processes  of  nature  " — 

"  Oh,  but  we  cannot  wait  for  them  :  life  is  not  long 
enough  !  "  exclaimed  Rose  impetuously.  "And  why 
need  we  live  under  the  shadow  of  the  cliff  ?  This 
is  what  I  wanted  to  beg  of  you.  Take  me  away 
from  here  and  from  her,  far,  far  away ! ' '  she  en 
treated,  still  kneeling,  her  head  thrown  back,  her 
eager  eyes  full  of  pleading. 

"Where  do  you  want  to  go,  Rosamond?"  asked 
Miss  Lennox  slowly,  not  without  a  certain  pained 
surprise  in  her  voice.  She  had  reached  an  age 
when  change  of  any  kind  is  unwelcome,  and  she 


AUNT  SERENA.  35 


loved  her  home.     "  Where?  "     She  looked 

at  her  soft  lawns,  her  cottage,  and  her  old  oaks 

Already  they  seemed  fading  from  her  view. 

"As  far  from  here  as  I  can  go,"  said  Eose  with 
the  unconscious  cruelty  of  youth.  Springing  to  her 
feet,  and  standing  straight  and  lithe  as  a  young 
Indian,  she  exclaimed,  "Across  the  sea,  wherever 
papa  and  mamma  went  when  they  were  so  young 
and  happy,  like  two  children  wandering  hand  in 
hand  through  pleasant  places,  as  you  have  so  often 
said.  I  always  wanted  to  go,  but  there  seemed  to 
be  no  reason  ;  and  I  know  you  love  it  here.  But  to 
day  ever}7"  thing  bids  me  go.  Every  thing  points 
far  away  into  the  great  world  beyond  these  quiet 
hills." 

"Your  mother  used  to  talk  so  years  ago,"  said 
Miss  Lennox  thoughtfully.  "It  is  strange  to  hear 
you  now.  I  was  always  a  bird  that  loved  the  nest  ; 
but  Winifred  was  bold  and  brave  like  you,  dear, 
and  longed  to  soar  away  :  '  '  she  looked  wistfully  at 
the  eager  child. 

"  I  will  never  soar  away  from  you,  dear  little 
fairy  godmother,"  cried  the  girl  warmly  ;  "and  if 
3Tou  would  be  unhappy  "  —  she  hesitated. 

;'  I  shall  not  be  unhappy,"  returned  Miss  Len 
nox,  quietly  accepting  the  journey,  and  already  see 
ing  the  silent  house  standing  with  closed  shutters  in 
the  midst  of  winter's  snows,  already  wondering  how 
John  would  manage  without  her,  already  choking 
down  her  first  homesickness. 

When  did  a  young  heart  ever  understand  an  old 


36  AUNT  SERENA. 

one?  Rose's  glad  eyes  met  her  aunt's  serene,  ten 
der  gaze ;  yet  these  two  near  arid  dear  ones  were 
wide  apart  at  the  moment.  One  saw  snowy  sum 
mits,  and  famed  rivers  winding  down  to  distant 
southern  seas,  cathedrals  and  castles,  dusky  ruins 
and  gliding  gondolas,  and  heard  the  music  of  for 
eign  tongues.  The  other  saw  a  pale,  sweet  face, 
with  great,  mouruful  eyes,  and  heard,  "I  am  not 
afraid,  Serena ;  but  how  can  I  leave  my  poor  Mttle 
baby-girl?"  She  was  always  a  child  herself,  little 
Winifred  ;  and  Rosamond  was  so  like  her.  How  fast 
the  years  had  flown  since  the  little  sister  died,  and 
Rosamond  was  seventeen  j'esterday !  Well,  she 
should  have  her  flight,  her  prancings,  and  caracol- 
ings.  Why  not?  Every  spirited  young  thing  loves 
action.  As  for  Harriet  Weathers  tone,  what  she  has 
said,  she  has  said.  Perhaps  it  would  be  really  the 
wisest  thing  to  take  Rose  out  of  her  sight  for  a  time. 

"If  only  I  may  guard  you  aright,"  she  said, 
"my  bonny  bird  that  wants  to  fly.  The  world  is 
so  large,  and  I  am  only  a  frail  old  woman."  She 
sighed  as  she  looked  into  the  girl's  fearless,  tender 
eyes ;  and  her  own  grew  moist  with  memories  and 
apprehension. 

"  Come,  child,  let  us  go  in  now,  let  us  go  in,"  she 
said,  a  little  wearily. 


AUNT  SERENA.  37 


CHAPTER  HI. 

"  Let  us  strike  hands  as  hearty  friends, 

No  more,  no  less:  and  friendship's  good; 
Only  don't  keep  in  view  ulterior  ends, 
And  points  not  tmderstood, 

In  open  treaty.    Kise  above 

Quibbles  and  shuffling  off  and  on. 
Here's  friendship  for  you,  if  you  like;  but  love  — 

No,  thank  you,  John." 

CHRISTINA  KOSSETTI. 

EVERYBODY  in  Northbrooke  soon  knew  that 
Serena  Lennox  and  Rosamond  Wellesley  were 
going  to  Europe.  Miss  Lennox  was  amiable  enough 
to  announce  her  intention  at  once,  being  aware  that 
nothing  was  so  irritating  to  Northbrooke  as  a  secret. 
Northbrooke  did  not  like  to  be  surprised.  It  claimed 
as  its  inalienable  right  a  fair  amount  of  leisure  in 
which  to  discuss  everybody's  plans  before  they  were 
put  in  execution.  Out  of  regard,  then,  for  the  idio 
syncrasies  of  her  neighbors,  Miss  Lennox  made  no 
secret  of  her  intentions.  Why,  indeed,  should  she 
be  reticent  in  this  respect?  In  the  old  days  there 
had  been  nothing  surprising  in  a  Wellesley  or  a 
Lennox  passing  a  winter  in  Paris  or  Rome,  but  of 
late  they  had  all  grown  rusty.  That  comes  of  being 
an  old  woman  and  living  alone,  thought  aunt  Serena, 
Cheering  herself  on  to  this  step  which,  look  at  it  as 


38  AUNT  SERENA. 

she  would,  always  assumed  gigantic  proportions. 
There  was  positively  no  reason  why  Rosamond 
should  vegetate  in  Northbrooke.  If  a  dull  old 
woman  like  herself  enjoyed  vegetating,  wh}T,  that 
was  pure  indolence.  Rosamond  should  be  happy, 
God  bless  her!  and  with  an  inward  shudder  Miss 
Lennox  wrote  to  engage  their  passage,  and  began 
active  preparations  for  departure. 

There  were  several  old  pensioners  to  be  provided 
for,  various  business  arrangements  to  make ;  and 
John,  who  regarded  the  matter  with  mournful  and 
undisguised  disapproval,  reported  each  day  some 
newly  discovered  necessity  of  repairs  on  the  house, 
all  of  which  would  occupy  some  weeks. 

Miss  Lennox  wrote  a  civil  note  acquainting  Miss 
Weatherstone  with  the  new  plans,  and  hoping  that 
they  would  meet  with  her  approval.  To  this  there 
was  no  answer.  One  day  between  Northbrooke  and 
the  city,  where  Miss  Lennox  and  Rosamond  had 
been  making  farewell  visits,  they  met  the  Weather- 
stone  carriage,  and  in  it  Miss  Weatherstone  herself, 
sitting  aggressively  erect.  She  passed  them  and 
their  modest  phaeton  as  if  they  and  it  were  thin  air, 
not  turning  her  head,  but  simply  looking  at  them 
with  eyes  that  saw  not. 

Rose  flushed  with  vexation.  "  Ridiculous  old 
creature  ! ' '  said  she.  But  Miss  Lennox's  soft ' '  Poor, 
lonely  soul,  hard  to  others,  harder  to  herself!  "  fol 
lowed  quickby.  "I  would  go  again  to  see  her. 
Don't  ride  Aloha.  Go  quietly  on  foot  or  drive. 
Yes,  dear,  I  wish  it,"  she  went  on,  as  Rose  looked 


AUNT  SERENA.  3S 

rebellious.  "  Perhaps  she  will  receive  you.  It  will 
only  cost  you  the  sacrifice  of  a  little  unworthy  pride. 
The  happy  owe  something  to  the  unhappy  in  this 
world;  and  she  is  unhappy,  God  knows."  And 
Rose  did  not  dream  that  the  gentle  soul  had  suffered, 
in  her  far-off  girlhood,  a  grievous  wrong  at  the  hands 
of  this  woman,  of  whom  she  always  spoke  with 
tender  compassion. 

The  days  flew  softly  by.  The  roses  still  lingered  ; 
and  long  lines  of  lilies  were  now  shining  out  in  their 
white  stateliness,  filling  the  air  with  fragrance.  Miss 
Lennox  lingered  lovingly  over  her  flowers,  flitting 
about  in  her  dainty  fashion,  and  ministering  to 
their  needs  as  if  they  were  human  friends.  The 
old  place  seemed  very  dear  to  Rose,  too,  as  the 
time  for  leaving  it  approached ;  yet  the  jo}r  of  the 
unknown  had  taken  possession  of  her  waking  or 
dreaming.  One  would  have  thought  it  was  a  new 
and  glorious  world  which  the  girl  was  going  forth 
to  conquer,  or  that  she  had  found  the  gateway  to 
Paradise,  she  had  such  a  radiant,  glowing  face,  and 
such  a  happy  light  in  her  eyes  that  seemed  to  see 
more  beaut}7  than  was  revealed  to  others. 

Now  this,  if  charming  in  itself,  was  not  necessarily 
agreeable  to  everybody ;  and  perhaps  next  to  old 
John,  the  person  who  disliked  the  "flitting"  most 
heartil}'  was  Harold  Thornton.  Like  John,  he  re 
garded  it  with  aversion  and  resentment,  entertaining 
the  secret  conviction  that  there  was  a  great  and 
special  injustice  to  him  in  the  obnoxious  proceeding. 
However  pretty  Rose  might  be,  gazing  into  bound- 


40  AUNT  SERENA. 

less  space  with  a  rapt  look  in  her  large  eyes,  it  did 
not  give  him  the  slightest  satisfaction.  He  much 
preferred  that  she  should  confine  her  attention  to  a 
not  uncomely  youth  near  at  hand.  One  morning  he 
ventured  to  express  his  views  to  this  effect,  and 
indeed  made  a  few  other  remarks  of  a  more  or  less 
personal  and  important  nature.  To  one  of  which 
he  received  this  cheerful  reply  :  — 

"Five,  at  least,  cousin  Harold.  I  do  not  at 
present  see  the  necessity  of  having  any  at  all.  But 
if  I  take  one,  I  must  certainly  take  five." 

Harold  listened  with  the  sombre  dignity  of  a 
youth  of  nineteen,  who  imagines  himself  madly  in 
love,  and  who  finds  the  object  of  his  affections  in 
clined  to  be  frivolous  instead  of  responsive.  He 
slashed  savagely  at  bush,  weed,  and  wild-flower  with 
his  riding-whip. 

Rose  was  sitting  at  the  top  of  a  rather  crazy 
flight  of  stone  steps  leading  down  the  steep,  high 
bank  overgrown  with  tangled  shrubbery  and  wild- 
cherry  trees.  Harold  stood  a  little  below  her,  his 
back  turned  to  the  pretty  cove.  But  the  girl  looked 
past  him,  her  smiling  eyes  watching  the  familiar 
scene.  The  waves  creeping  softly  up  among  the 
tall  reeds  and  coarse  sea-grasses,  the  little  village 
on  the  hillside  at  the  left,  the  bold  lighthouse  tower 
far  to  the  right,  and  the  shores  curving  to  meet  the 
long  bridge  which  seemed  to  draw  them  nearer.  A 
heavy  train  of  cars  was  lumbering  over  it,  throwing 
loose  pennons  of  smoke  to  the  morning  breeze.  A 
few  birds  were  skimming  idly  about.  How  quiet 
and  monotonous  it  was  ;  but  she  liked  it. 


AUNT  SERENA.  41 

She  was  an  aggravating  picture  in  her  morning 
freshness,  as  she  turned  her  cool,  undrooping  gaze 
from  the  lake-like  water  to  the  somewhat  flushed 
young  person  before  her. 

"  Don't  be  cross,  Harold,"  she  said  sweetly.  "  I 
prefer  having  no  such  encumbrance,  you  understand. 
But  if  it  were  an  inevitable  evil,  five  would  be  more 
agreeable  to  me  than  one." 

"1  must  be  uncommonly  obtuse,"  he  remarked 
grimly ;  ' '  but  I  confess  I  fail  to  appreciate  the 
joke." 

"It's  not  a  joke,  you  dear  boy.  It  is  my  most 
serious  conclusion,  after  listening  to  you  with  the 
utmost  attention.  For  instance,  one  like  aunt  Se 
rena's  banker,  urbane  and  gray-haired,  to  whom 
I  would  casually  mention  from  time  to  time  that  I 
wanted  gloves  and  chocolate.  One  fond  of  society, 
concerts,  the  opera,  and  dancing ;  one  for  rainy 
days  at  home,  instructive,  but  not  pedantic,  learned, 
amiable,  and  witty ;  one  to  tease  and  be  very  fond 
of.  You'd  do  for  that  one,  Harold,  if  you  would 
not  quarrel  with  the  other  four. ' '  Harold  muttered 
something  inaudible  and  improper.  ' '  And  one  to 
revere  and  quite  adore.  He  is  my  favorite.  You 
find  him  in  a  great  many  books.  He  has  suffered. 
I  am  not  his  first  love,  you  know.  He  had  loved 
before  we  met.  There  are  moments  when  he  is 
unconscious  of  my  presence.  He  is  lost  in  reveries 
of  scenes  of  long  ago.  That  must  be  delightful. 
He  can  be  dark  or  fair ;  but  his  eyes  must  be  deep 
set,  and  his  smile  melancholy  and  rare." 


42  AUNT  SERENA. 

"I  think  1  will  go,"  Harold  said  abruptly.  He 
had  stopped  decapitating  flowers,  and  was  looking 
Rose  full  in  the  face,  not  sullenly,  as  before,  but 
with  a  curiousl}-  observant  expression. 

"  Are  you  angry?  "  said  she  gently. 

"  I  don't  know  what  I  am.  A  fool,  perhaps. 
But  I  think  I'll  go  all  the  same." 

She  rose ;  and  they  walked  slowly  up  the  long 
garden-path  towards  the  pleasant,  old-fashioned 
house  resting  peacefully  among  its  orchards,  lanes, 
and  gardens,  with  its  shad}*  entrance-drive,  and  its 
double  belt  of  giant  oaks  completely  encircling  the 
little  domain.  Like  a  line  of  stalwart  sentinels 
guarding  the  sweet  old  homestead,  the  little  girl 
who  grew  up  there  used  to  think.  No  intruder 
would  dare  molest  the  first  violets  and  anemones 
in  the  knoll  where  they  grew  so  beautiful  in  the  long, 
damp  grass  ;  no  one  could  approach  her  duck-pond 
with  malign  intent  while  that  stately  guard  stood 
there.  What  the  oaks  would  actually  do  in  case 
of  nocturnal  attack,  did  not  occur  to  her.  Her 
faith  in  them  was  inspired  by  the  proud  way  they 
had  of  holding  their  branches  out  against  the  sky. 

They  walked  silently  up  the  broad  old  garden 
on  its  sunny  slope  towards  the  bank.  Then  Hose 
suddenly  stopped,  and  looked  back  along  the  path. 
Through  the  gap  in  the  overgrown  rough  hedge, 
where  they  had  been  at  the  top  of  the  steps,  she 
could  see  the  glistening  water  and  the  lighthouse 
rind  a  bit  of  the  bridge.  She  could  not  see  enough 
that  morning  of  what  she  had  seen  all  her  life  ;  yet 


AUNT  SEEENA.  43 

her  glance  was  keen  and  clear,  not  softly  lingering. 
At  length  she  turned  the  same  direct,  intense  gaze 
upon  her  companion,  and  observed,  that,  while  her 
home  smiled  back  at  her  as  it  had  ever  done  in  sum 
mer  sunshine,  the  boy  at  her  side  gave  no  smile,  no 
wcrd  or  look  indeed,  but  with  a  certain  haughtiness 
of  mien,  and  a  quietly  resolute  face,  silently  accom 
panied  her. 

"  You  are  not  really  angry,  Harold?  And  we  go 
so  soon." 

"I  am  not  angry,  but  I  have  had  a  revelation. 
You  are  less  good  than  I  thought." 

She  flushed  slightly,  but  smiled.  "  I  have  always 
told  you  that.  Curious  that  you  believe  it  now  for 
the  first  time." 

"Because  to-day  for  the  first  time  I  have  cause. 
You  are  not  even  kind  to-day." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked  rather  coldly. 

"You  do  not  treat  me  fairly,"  he  continued  in 
the  same  quiet  voice.  "  You  have  always  been  fair 
and  brave  before.  Even  when  you  were  little  you 
never  whimpered,  and  begged  for  mercy  in  any 
game,  like  the  other  girls.  You  were  as  plucky  and 
downright  as  we  fellows.  I  always  knew  what  you 
meant,  and  where  to  find  you ;  and  now  I  do  not. 
I  do  not  think  you  are  playing  with  me,  though  the}7 
say  all  girls  like  that  well  enough  —  but ' '  —  here 
the  boy  Hushed  deep  all  over  his  honest  face. 

"  Harold  !  "  exclaimed  Rose  indignantly. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  You  know  I  do  not  mean 
that,  but  you  hurt  me.  "Why  do  you  laugh,  and 


44  AUNT  SERENA. 

giye  me  only  nonsense  in  return,  when  I  offer  yen, 
if  not  much  indeed,  }'et  at  least  all  I  have,  all  I  am, 
and  all  I  hope  to  be  r  " 

Rose  hesitated,  looking  at  him  gravely,  then 
pointed,  with  a  slow  gesture,  to  a  large  and  singu 
larly-grown  tree  in  the  corner  of  the  garden. 

"Cousin  Harold,  it  was  not  three  years  ago, 
hardly  more  than  two,  that  I  climbed  that  tree  to 
the  very  top!  "  and  her  triumphant,  laughing  face 
looked  into  his,  as  if  this  at  least  was  unanswer 
able. 

He  smiled  in  spite  of  himself,  but  said  stoutly,  — 

"  You  can  climb  it  at  twenty-five,  for  all  of  me." 
Then,  with  a  certain  shyness,  "  I  should  like  you  to 
always  do  what  you  like,  Rosamond." 

The  girl  grew  grave.  Twenty-five?  Yes,  she 
would  be  twenty-five  sometime.  One  could  not  al 
ways  remain  a  little  girl,  "  with  all  her  happy  world 
so  near  the  ground,"  let  one  try  ever  so  hard. 
Perhaps  girls  ought  not  to  joke  about  such  things. 
In  books  they  did  not  joke.  But  then,  in  books  it 
wasn't  Harold.  That  surely  made  a  great  difference. 
She  looked  at  him  questioningly.  The  gloom  on  his 
bright,  young  face  was  painful  to  her.  She  had 
never  seen  him  like  this.  Perhaps  she  ought  to  be 
solemn  too.  Perhaps,  at  seventeen  —  she  ought — • 
but  dear,  dear,  what  an  inconvenient,  what  a  con 
tradictory  age  it  was !  She  was  not  old  enough  to 
escape  aunt  Weatherstone's  reprimands.  She  was 
not  young  enough  to  be  free  from  Harold's  annoying 
attentions.  She  stopped  suddenly  among  the  lilies. 


AUNT  SERENA.  45 

Her  merry,  kobold  mood  had  passed.  She  felt 
depressed.  She  was  conscious  of  a  little  selfish  re 
gret  that  Harold  had  disturbed  her.  Why  need  he  ? 
she  thought  with  impatience,  and  a  certain  sense 
of  helplessness.  It  was  all  so  pleasant.  Why 
need  he  change  it?  But  the  boy's  earnest  eyes 
met  hers  squarely  ;  and  he  waited,  masterful  even 
in  his  disappointment,  determined  to  compel  her 
to  accord  him  a  more  satisfying  and  tangible  re 
sponse. 

Her  womanliness  conquered.  She  gave  a  little 
trembling  sigh,  and,  with  it,  left  the  fair  fields  of 
childhood,  where  she  would  fain  have  lingered  still. 
With  timid  and  reluctant  step  she  set  out  upon 
unknown  ground.  The  path  might  lead  to  an  en 
chanted  land,  to  a  larger  life  ;  but  she  knew  she  was 
turning  away  forever  from  something  very  pure  and 
sweet,  and  her  heart  was  full  as  she  spoke,  — 

"Harold,"  stretching  both  hands  towards  him  in 
her  impetuous  fashion,  "  forgive  me.  I  am  selfish. 
I  did  not  wish  to  wound  you.  I  only  wanted  to 
keep  what  has  been.  I  want  no  change  between  us  ; 
and  when  you  speak  as  you  have  spoken  this  morn 
ing,  it  puts  you  so  far  away." 

"  If  I  only  knew  how  to  make  it  bring  me  near 
er !"  exclaimed  the  boy.  "I  know  we're  young 
and  all  that ;  but  you  are  going  off,  and  when  I  think 
of  all  the  other  fellows  you'll  see  over  there  "  — 
and  he  scowled  as  if  he  longed  to  massacre  the 
whole  male  population  of  Europe,  and  as  if  he  saw 
it  kneeling  in  distracted  rows  before  a  simple  little 


46  AUNT  SERENA. 

girl  in  a  morning-gown  and  a  garden-hat.  "  Tell 
me  one  thing,  Rose  ;  and  you  won't  be  vexed  that  I 
ask,  will  you?  Were  you  thinking  of  anybody  in 
particular  when  you  were  chaffing  about  that  felloe 
with  the  rare  and  melancholy  smile?  —  confound 
him  ! ' '  He  began  shyly  with  a  steady  crescendo  to 
his  fina1  vigorous  imprecation. 

No  child  of  six  could  have  looked  up  with  more 
innocent,  wondering  eyes  than  Rose  at  this  moment, 

"  Well,  I  can't  help  it,"  said  Harold  in  a  shame 
faced  way.  "  I  liked  him  well  enough,  you  know. 
I  can't  say  I  did  not.  I  must  admit  he's  a  very 
good  fellow;  "  and  his  natural  honesty  forced  him 
to  give  the  stranger  his  due.  "  I  can't  say  he  tries 
to  do  Lara  or  Werther,  or  any  other  of  that  disgust 
ing  tribe  that's  always  enjoying  the  luxury  of  woe. 
He  tells  a  good  story,  and  makes  a  good  joke,  and 
eats  his  dinner  like  a  man  ;  but  still,  you  know,  his 
eyes  are  deep-set,  and  he  doesn't  smile  much,  and 
he's  just  the  sort  of  man  a  romantic  girl  might  "  — 

"  I'm  not  a  romantic  girl,"  exclaimed  Rose  with 
spirit;  "  but  I  really  think  you  are  trying  to  make 
one  of  me.  I  don't  know  in  the  least  what  you 
mean.  It  is  really  too  much,  Harold.  I  never  wish 
to  see  your  Lara- Werther  man,  or  indeed  any  man 
at  all.  I  am  going  to  beg  aunt  Serena  to  take  me 
where  there  are  no  men, — not  even  school-boys," 
she  added  maliciously. 

"  Then,  you'll  have  to  go  to  a  place  like  that  col 
lege  in  Tennyson's  '  Princess,'  "  remarked  Harold 
with  his  most  mature  air,  growing  good-humored  as 


AUNT  SEEENA.  47 

Rose  grew  vexed  ;  "  only  it  didn't  seem  to  ttrn  out 
exactly  after  the  original  intention,  did  it?  But  I 
really  thought  you  might  have  met  Mr.  Bruce.  He 
was  out  here  at  Judge  Edmonds's." 

"  I  believe  I  did  see  him,"  said  Rose  carelessly. 
"  It  is  possible.  If  he  is  the  person  I  imagine,  this 
is  the  second  time  I  am  indebted  to  him  for  r3- 
proaches  from  my  near  relatives."  She  was  veiy 
thoughtful  now,  her  broad,  white  eyelids  drooping 
over  somewhat  troubled  eyes.  Of  what  was  she 
thinking  ? 

"  I  am  still  waiting  for  my  answer,  Rose,"  Harold 
said  gently. 

"  And  I  will  give  it,  since  you  force  me  to  speak 
of  things  I  have  never  thought  of  in  connection 
with  myself."  She  was  pale  and  grave  and  stead 
fast.  Why  was  she  suddenly  so  white?  She  was 
like  the  tall,  slender  lily  just  behind  her,  thought 
the  boy.  How  pretty  her  throat  was !  Did  girls 
always  have  such  fan*  throats?  She  was  hanging 
her  head  now  quite  like  the  lily.  Now  she  lifted  it 
high  and  looked  at  him. 

"Forgive  me  if  I  do  not  say  it  right.  These 
things  are  too  strange  for  me  to  try  to  explain  them. 
I'm  sure  it  is  all  a  great  mistake,  Harold.  You 
are  sorry  I  am  going.  That  makes  you  think  you 
love  me.  And  neither  you  nor  I  know  what  love  is. 
But  it  must  be  something  very  grand  and  sweet  and 
sad"  —  and  the  quick,  shy  color  swept  over  her 
face,  up  to  the  blue  vein  in  her  temple,  upon  which 
Harold's  eyes  were  fixed.  "  Some  day  you'll  come 


48  AUNT  SERENA. 

to  me  and  say,  '  I  have  found  my  love  and  my  wife,' 
—  and  then  you  will  be  older  and  calmer  and 
stronger.  To-day  we  are  so  like  the  little  boy  and 
girl  who  have  climbed  the  gnarled  apple-trees  in 
the  orchard,  and  fed  the  ducks,  and  ridden  the 
shaggy  pony  bareback,  and  jumped  on  the  hay.  "We 
are  a  little  longer  than  we  were  then,"  and  she 
smiled  up  at  the  well-built  boy,  "  but  not  much 
wiser  I  think.  College  has  not  really  changed  you 
much,  and  I  have  had  nothing  to  change  me.  I 
know  we  are  '  grown  up,'  "  she  said  regretfully.  "  It 
is  such  a  pity.  But  if  aunt  Serena  should  call  this 
moment, '  Come,  children.  I  have  spread  your  bread 
and  butter  with  marmalade,'  it  would  seem  more 
natural  to  me  than  for  you  and  me  to  be  talking 
about  these  strange,  deep  things.  Aunt  Harriet 
spoke  to  me  the  other  day  about  you,  and  "  — 

"Old  beast!"  exclaimed  Harold.  "You  know 
I  would  never  insult  you  by  mentioning  her  name 
in  the  matter.  As  if  a  worthless  bit  of  pasture- 
land  need  be  continually  harped  upon.  I'd  thank 
her  to  allow  me  to  manage  my  own  affairs.  It  is, 
perhaps,  my  misfortune  that  I  have  such  an  ally  "  — 

"  My  dear,"  said  Rose  gently,  "  there  is  no  mis 
fortune  for  you  or  for  me.  We  are  only  wandering 
be}~ond  our  depth,  using  words  whose  meaning  we 
do  not  know.  But  we  are  good  old  friends,  and 
dare  to  be  honest  with  each  other ;  so  we  shall  soon 
find  firm  ground  under  our  feet.  Listen,  Harold. 
We  are  going  away  from  the  old  place,  out  into  the 
great  world,  and  I  am  eager  to  go :  but  I  love  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  49 

old  life  and  arn  coming  back  to  it ;  and  I  want  to 
find  it  unchanged,  my  oaks  and  my  waves  and  my 
lilies  and  my  birds,  and  most  of  all  my  brave  boy. 
O  Harold,  let  us  not  even  try  to  bring  any  thing 
new  into  our  lives.  We  are  so  young,  and  indeed 
we  are  not  ready.  Let  us  remain  little  children 
towards  each  other,  trusty,  loving  little  hearts  as  of 
old.  You  frighten  me  when  you  say  wife.  Take 
the  word  back.  Please  say  you  do  not  mean  it," 
she  implored. 

"  How  strange  you  are,  Rosamond.  How  do  you 
know  all  this?  "  and  Harold  saw  her  soft,  wet  eyes, 
and  clasped,  eloquent  hands,  and  wondered  at  the 
pleading  voice. 

"  I  know  so  little,  but  I  feel  so  much  ;  and  I  can 
not  bear  any  thing  unreal  to  disturb  us.  You  have 
learned  it  out  of  books  or  college  talk,  that  you 
want  me  to  be  your  wife ;  and  I  feel  it  is  not  true. 
Take  it  back,  —  and  let  me  go  from  my  home 
with  my  heart  at  rest,  the  happy  child  you  have 
always  known.  We  are  not  ready.  Love  is  divine. 
We  must  not  take  its  sacred  name  in  vain." 

' '  You  lovely  little  girl,  you  know  I  will  do  any 
thing  in  the  world  you  ask  of  me.  There  is  no 
one  like  you,  Rose,  —  no  one;  and  it's  a  mighty 
poor  business, — your  going.  Just  try  it  yourself, 
and  see  how  it  is.  You  don't  know  what  it  is  to  be 
a  fellow  like  me,  and  come  galloping  through  the 
grove,  and  see  a  little  white  figure,  with  a  long, 
bright  mane,  standing  on  the  lawn,  and  waiting 
for  you,  as  I've  seen  you  all  these  years.  And  as 


50  AUNT  SERENA. 

for  getting  it  out  of  books,  that's  rubbish,  and  you 
know  it.  I  suppose  I'm  a  good  deal  of  a  cub,  but 
I'm  man  enough  for  this  :  to  love  you  well  enough 
not  to  want  to  pain  you.  So  I'll  eat  my  words,  and 
He  down  in  the  path,  and  let  you  walk  over  me,  if 
you  say  so." 

"  And  you  take  it  back?  "  said  Rose,  with  gentle 
insistence. 

"  Yes,  for  to-day,  if  that  is  your  fancy.  But  I 
have  not  promised  not  to  say  it  again  as  many  times 
as  I  wish,  and  "  — 

"  That  you  take  it  back  is  all  I  wish  to  know." 

"  And  if  you  expect  me  to  stay  here  for  you  to 
find  when  you  come  back,  like  your  oaks  and  your 
waves  and  your  lilies,  you  are  very  much  mistaken," 
remarked  Harold,  in  his  imperious,  boyish  way. 
"  I  don't  intend  to  become  a  feature  in  this  land 
scape  by  any  means,  and  if  you  stay  too  long  I  shall 
come  after  you.  As  soon  as  I  am  through  college 
nothing  will  prevent  me." 

"Why,  come  then,  you  funny  boy,"  said  Rose, 
laughing.  "  Aunt  Serena  and  I  would  like  nothing 
better.  Let  us  go  in  now  to  her." 

Side  by  side  they  went  up  the  steps  to  the  broad 
piazza,  and  passed  through  the  open,  vine-wreathed 
window  into  the  room  where  aunt  Serena's  sweet, 
wise  eyes  looked  at  the  two  and  unde  rstood  ;  but  she 
only  said,  — 

"  Children,  I've  been  waiting  for  you ;  "  and  her 
diminutive  figure  stood  before  Harold,  and  the  big, 
strong  boy  looked  down  upon  the  tender,  humorous 


AUNT  SERENA.  51 

face,  and  the  gentle  hand  holding  out  a  small  silver 
salver,  on  which  was  a  tiny  old-fashioned  glass  of 
her  favorite  Greek  wine,  with  a  bit  of  cake  of  mar- 
rellous  richness,  such  as  is  produced  in  old  New- 
England  families  from  mysterious  and  well- guarded 
recipes  handed  down  like  heirlooms  from  one  genera 
tion  to  another. 

"  Before  your  ride  home,  dear  boy,"  she  said, 
kindly  proffering  her  nectar. 

"  Only  the  wine,  then,  thank  you,"  said  Harold ; 
"  and  though  I  need  no  inward  fortifying  for  that 
small  journey,  I  drink  to  }rour  safe  return.  You 
think  I'm  that  stone  old  boy  beneath  whose  round 
about  was  an  appetite  that  never  slumbered  or  slept, 
don't  you,  aunt  Serena?  You  forget  we  are  all 
grown  now,  and  are  less  hungry  and  less  happy ; " 
and  the  disappointed  boy  tried  to  smile,  and  bear 
himself  right  manfully. 

"  You  are  alwa}*s  my  dear  boy,  Harold,  whom  I 
love  next  to  this  child  here,  and  to  whom  I  shall 
bring  cakes  and  good  things  many  a  long  year,  and 
see  him  eat  them  too,"  said  the  old  lady  cheerily. 
"It  is  the  imperial  cake,  Harold,"  she  added 
significantly. 

But  Harold's  wound  was  not  to  be  healed,  even 
with  imperial  cake.  He  only  said,  — 

"I  must  say  good- by,  the  real  good-by,  here  in 
the  eld  house,  aunt  Serena ;  though  I  shall,  of 
course,  be  at  the  station  to-morrow.  And  then  he 
tried  to  thank  her  for  her  loveliness  to  him,  but 
choked  and  trembled,  and,  in  spite  of  his  nineteen 


52  AUNT  SERENA. 

years,  made  but  a  sorry  speech.  Aunt  Serena  kissed 
him  and  blessed  him ;  and  Eose  said  good-bj*  with  a 
sweet,  moved  face. 

He  gulped  down  a  mighty  sob,  and  rushed  out 
of  the  house ;  and  his  horse's  hoofs  in  a  moment 
more  were  clattering  down  the  shady  drive.  His 
mother's  guests  at  dinner  that  evening  found  him  a 
morose  and  uninteresting  young  person.  Before 
his  eyes  were  two  women.  One  with  a  fair  young 
face,  and  one  with  a  fair  old  face.  One  was  tall  and 
strong  and  supple,  the  other  frail  and  bowed :  both 
looked  kindly  at  him,  and  bade  him  a  long  farewell. 
"  I  will  follow  them  soon,"  he  resolved. 

As  he  rode  down  the  grove,  "Poor  boy!  "  said 
the  old  lady :  "he  has  a  warm  heart,  — but  it  could 
not  be.  I  am  sorry  it  came  between  you." 

"  Nothing  has  come  between  us,"  said  Rose  with 
composure.  "  At  least,  he  took  it  all  back." 

"  Took  it  back  !  "  exclaimed  aunt  Serena. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  girl  simply.  I  begged  him  to, 
and  he  did,"  as  if  making  an  offer  of  marriage 
and  retracting  it  all  in  one  morning  were  a  thing 
of  daily  occurrence.  "  It's  quite  the  same  now  as 
if  he  had  never  said  it.  Dear  old  boy.  I  shall 
miss  him.  He  is  such  a  dear  when  he  isn't  senti 
mental." 

Aunt  Serena  smiled,  and  shook  her  head,  think 
ing,  "  She  is  only  a  child  with  all  her  cleverness,  — 
only  a  child  still ;  but  when  her  turn  comes,  then  wo 
shall  see  something  different." 


AUNT  SERENA.  53 


CHAPTER  IV. 

"  "Where  shall  we  land  you,  sweet? 
On  fields  of  strange  men's  feet, 

Or  fields  near  home  ? 
Or  where  the  fire-flowers  blow, 
Or  where  the  flowers  of  snow, 
Or  flowers  of  foam  ?  " 

SWINBURNE. 

IN  August  our  pilgrims  sailed  for  Germany.  Curi 
ously  enough  Rose  had  no  longing  for  England. 
She  said  one  day,  as  they  were  lazily  discussing 
their  route,  "  We  must  go  there  of  course,  —  after 
wards.  England  is  beautiful,  but  one  half  knows 
it  all.  Now,  I  want  to  go  where  I  shall  understand 
neither  the  language  nor  the  ways,  and  where  things 
will  be  entirely  strange.  I  am  sure  England  will  be 
too  homelike  and  respectable.  Ah !  if  we  could  only 
begin  with  Eg3'pt ! ' ' 

"  Or  South  Africa,"  sighed  Miss  Lennox,  "  where 
there  would  be  still  greater  possibilities  of  strange 
ness."  But  she  heroically  abandoned  her  lingering 
hope  that  Rose  might  enjoy  a  quiet,  comfortable  stay 
in  the  revered  land  of  her  forefathers  ;  and  while  she 
could  not  force  herself  to  feel  the  wild  thirst  for 
novelty  and  adventure  which  seemed  to  be  consum 
ing  her  niece,  at  least  the  girl's  extravagancies  met 
with  indulgence  if  not  with  encouragement.  "  It  is 


54  AUNT  SERENA. 

Rose's  own  journey, — Rose's  flight  out  into  the 
world,"  she  reasoned.  "She  shall  go  where  she 
will,  and  she  shall  not  find  me  a  weight  on  her 
neck." 

England  having  been  promptly  vetoed,  France 
was  proposed  with  enthusiasm  by  Rosamond.  Now, 
Miss  Lennox  had  a  simple,  old-fashioned  notion  that 
France  was  "wicked."  She  could  not  have  told 
why,  but  she  looked  aghast  when  this  fair  land  was 
mentioned  as  the  very  gateway  to  their  foreign  wan 
derings  ;  and  they  finally  compromised  the  matter  by 
cordially  agreeing  upon  Germany. 

"I  am  sure  I  shall  like  Germany,"  said  Miss 
Lennox  cheerfully,  but  with  extremely  vague  ideas 
of  what  they  two  were  going  to  do  over  there. 

"Like  it?  I  shall  adore  it!"  exclaimed  Rose. 
"  I  am  glad  that  I  never  studied  a  word  of  German. 
We  shall  have  so  many  more  experiences." 

The  conversations  which  took  place  previous  to 
their  departure,  in  the  shady  porch  of  the  old  cottage, 
would  have  excited  pit}7,  if  not  contempt,  in  the 
mind  of  the  practical  tourist.  There  was  no  study 
ing  of  maps,  no  apportioning  of  time,  no  delirious 
cramming  of  geographical  and  historical  facts.  In 
spite  of  Miss  Lennox's  inherent  distrust  of  any  kind 
of  nomadic  life,  and  although  Rose  was  over-charged 
Mith  eagerness  to  her  very  finger-tips,  there  was  still 
a  great  restfulness  in  their  wa,y  of  contemplating  the 
journey.  It  may  have  been  somewhat  "  American  ;  " 
it  may  have  been  peculiar  to  themselves  that  two 
women,  inexperienced  travellers,  without  even  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  55 

feeble  protection  of  a  maid,  should  have  embarked 
upon  the  "  Aspasia,"  knowing  nothing  of  their 
course  except  the  name  of  the  city  to  which  she  was 
bound,  and  should  have  felt  themselves  prepared, 
with  perfect  tranquillity  of  mind,  to  spend  an  indefi 
nite  time  in  unknown  places.  Yet  their  beautiful 
confidence  in  the  goodness  of  their  fellow-creatures 
met  with  no  betrayal.  At  least,  wherever  the  two 
came  in  all  their  journeyings,  civility  and  kindness 
smoothed  their  path.  If  a  man's  eye  lingered  on 
the  fresh  face  of  the  girl,  creamy  and  pure  as  the 
heart  of  a  tea-rose,  it  never  seemed  to  Miss  Lennox 
that  it  was  with  impertinence  ;  and  indeed  it  would 
have  been  strange  if  even  coarseness  had  not  hung 
its  head  abashed  before  the  gentle  dignity  of  those 
watchful  eyes,  looking  out  beneath  the  coronet  of 
soft,  white  hair.  Miss  Lennox  was  a  better  guard 
ian  than  she  knew.  Since  force  rouses  force,  even 
a  strong  man  might  in  some  instances  have  fared 
worse  than  she.  But  goodness  wedded  with  grace 
being  strong,  silent  powers  in  the  woman,  at  least 
when,  as  in  this  instance,  she  who  has  them  is  too 
old  to  arouse  envy,  rough  places  were  everywhere 
made  smooth  for  aunt  Serena  ;  and  she  would  often 
say  gratefully,  "  How  kind  people  are!  How  easy 
gravelling  is,  after  all !  "  not  realizing  that  they  who 
are  ready  to  fight  with  a  wild  beast  will  shelter  a 
wandering  dove.  And  Rose,  happy  Rose,  unre- 
proached  for  being  tall  and  conspicuous,  no  longer 
in  disgrace  for  the  changing  glow  of  her  young  cheek 
or  the  varying  tones  of  Lcr  rich  voice,  never  knew 


56  AUNT  SERENA. 

that  her  fresh,  beautiful  girlhood  was  a  delight  to 
many  as  she  passed,  that  others  paid  her  the  uncon 
scious  tribute  of  envious  criticism ;  and  so  she  went 
on  her  innocent  way  rejoicing. 

They  passed  through  the  perils  of  the  deep  with 
the  experiences  which  usually  attend  a  first  voyage. 
The  facetious  j'oung  man  was  on  the  "Aspasia." 
Also  the  girl  who  sings.  The  person  who,  when 
seasick,  begs  piteously  to  be  thrown  overboard,  was 
there,  as  well  as  the  jovial  gentleman  who  has 
never  felt  the  faintest  symptom  of  seasickness,  and 
who  walks  up  and  down  the  deck,  slapping  his 
broad  breast,  all  ignorant  of  qualms  and  misery,  and 
in  an  insultingly  robust  manner  proclaims  his  views 
before  the  pale  ghosts  of  their  former  selves,  lying 
about  in  steamer-chairs.  "It  is  all  a  matter  of 
will,  a  simple  matter  of  will,  don't  you  know  ?  " 
he  would  say,  with  conviction  in  his  tone ;  but  he 
never  convinced  the  silent,  nerveless  phantoms. 

Once  fairly  on  the  other  side,  Miss  Lennox  and 
Rose  were  simple,  whole-souled  travellers.  They 
did  not  belong  to  the  weakly,  demonstrative  order 
of  tourists,  nor  yet  were  they  characterized  by  that 
paucity  of  approval  which  many  regard  as  the 
strongest  evidence  of  extremely  refined  taste.  It 
was  perhaps  a  matter  of  temperament  with  them 
that  they  could  not  become  weary  of  what  they  had 
not  yet  known.  And  as  they  formed  their  opinions 
honestly  for  themselves,  there  was  at  least  one 
worthy  element  in  their  modes*  art-criticisms,  and 
one  rare  .in  the  madding  crowd  of  sight-seers, — 


AUNT  SERENA.  57 

truth.  They  would  even  have  preferred  to  nobly 
admire  the  wrong  thing,  rather  than  to  meanly 
admire  the  right ;  but  then,  in  apology  for  this 
eccentricity,  it  must  be  remembered  that  they  were 
as  unsophisticated  as  they  were  independent,  and 
that  the}'  came  from  Northbrooke,  Me. 

In  an  old  cathedral,  monument  of  art  and  history, 
epitome  of  ages  of  toil  and  endeavor,  they  stood 
silent,  watching  the  kneeling,  foreign  throng,  yet 
knew  themselves  akin  to  it.  With  tender  reverence 
they  heard,  soaring  above  the  anthem  of  to-day,  the 
innumerable  pleading  voices  of  the  past,  —  the  mur 
mur  of  the  mighty  human  tide  that  had  surged  and 
broken  there,  —  and  felt  the  one  great  heart-throb 
of  the  yearning,  loving,  suffering  mass  of  mortals, 
whose  prayers  still  floated  through  the  lofty  vaults, 
whose  spirits  still  haunted  the  dim  aisles. 

It  did  not  occur  to  aunt  Serena  and  Rosamond 
to  regard  the  structure  with  condescension.  They 
were  so  simple  as  to  lose  themselves  in  its  actual 
and  suggested  vastness.  Their  minds  never  as 
sumed  attitudes  of  cold  caution  and  stern  reserve. 
Their  critical  powers  did  not  saunter  idly  about, 
awarding  supercilious  approval  to  a  perfect  arch, 
faint  praise  to  a  massive  shaft,  and  viewing  with 
languid  tolerance  the  flaming  glories  of  old  stained 
glass.  Nor  did  they  ascend  to  an  impossible  intel 
lectual  height,  and  look  down  with  commiseration 
on  the  loftiest  spire.  Happily  we  do  not  all  reach 
this  height,  for  its  summit  is  giddy  and  its  base 
insecure. 


58  AUNT  SERENA. 

They  liked  castles,  too,  —  castles  in  veritable  ruins, 
and  even  castles  in  good  repair,  with  new  frescos 
telling  old  tales,  —  and  with  apparently  well-oiled 
automatic  guides,  warranted  to  go  in  three  lan 
guages,  —  destroying  every  possibility  of  idly  dream 
ing  within  those  ancient  walls. 

Their  devious  course  would  be  no  model  route  for 
a  guide-book.  The}'  were  unlimited  as  to  time,  and 
led  only  bj"  their  own,  or  rather  Rose's  own,  pleas 
ure  ;  and  her  chief  desire  was  to  go  wherever  her 
father  and  mother  had  gone  twenty  years  before. 
They  loitered  a  few  da}'s  in  sedate  Holland,  and 
liked  the  ships  and  the  barges,  the  sleepy  canals, 
the  stately  trees,  the  queer,  leaning  houses,  the 
thrift,  the  pictures,  and  the  people. 

They  observed  much  not  mentioned  in  guide 
books,  and  failed  to  see  much  recommended  by 
those  necessary  evils.  There  was  no  one  to  re 
proach  them,  to  hurry  them,  to  thrust  objects  of 
interest  upon  their  notice.  Better  still,  they  met 
no  one  who  asked,  "You,  of  course,  saw  such  a 
thing  at  such  a  place?  No?  Really,  what  a  pity  !  " 
in  a  tone  of  commiseration  that  implied  their  whole 
misguided  wanderings,  their  trip  across  the  Atlan 
tic,  their  very  lives  indeed,  had  been  in  vain. 
They  saw  many  pictures,  and  carried  away  in  their 
hearts  the  dear  remembrance  of  a  few.  One  wild, 
dark  night  they  stood  on  the  beach  at  Scheviningen, 
and  listened  to  the  chattering,  noisy  crowd  sitting 
at  little  tables  eating  and  drinking,  and  gentry 
stepped  aside  to  avoid  the  rows  of  bold,  curiously 


AUNT  SERENA.  59 

clad  fisherwomen  striding  up  and  down  with  noisy 
laughter  and  coarse  jest.  They  heard  the  thunder 
of  the  giant  breakers  upon  the  shore,  and  watched 
the  sea-gulls  flying  low  over  the  gleaming  white 
caps,  and  thought,  "It  is  the  same  sea  that  softly 
washes  the  tangled  banks  of  our  Nest.  How  small 
the  world  is,  after  all!"  They  wandered  about 
drowsy  Ghent,  and  heard  the  carillon  at  Bruges, 
and  dreamed  many  hours  away  in  the  beautiful 
churches  of  Antwerp ;  and  so,  without  haste,  came 
on  to  Cologne,  to  rest  a  while  in  the  shadow  of  its 
cathedral. 

They  sailed  slowly  up  the  Rhine,  stopping  here 
and  there  as  the  whim  seized  them,  wandering 
among  the  vineyards  in  the  pleasant  September 
sunshine,  finding  it  good  to  be  alive  and  gaze  upon 
such  fairness.  They  looked  upon  all  things  with 
happy,  grateful  eyes,  not  feeling  too  strongly  the 
necessity  of  committing  every  thing  to  memory. 
The  proud  husband,  who  boasted  that  his  wife  had 
been  in  a  hundred  and  fifty  hotels  in  Italy,  and 
could  remember  their  names  and  those  of  most  of 
their  owners,  would  have  had  small  respect  for  our 
indolent  friends.  It  was  a  mild,  long  autumn,  so 
warm,  indeed,  that  Swiss  hotel-keepers  were  rejoi 
cing  iii  what  they  called  a  "  second  season  ;  "  and 
the  world  lingered,  loath  to  leave  its  pleasure- 
ground,  which  seemed  to  gain  loveliness  each  day 
in  the  tender  autumn  hazes. 

"I  like  every  thing  better  with  a  haze,  people 
as  well  as  mountains,"  remarked  aunt  Serena,  as 


60  AUNT  SERENA. 

they  were  sailing  in  one  evening  toward  the  towers 
of  Lucerne.  "That  is,  with  a  few  exceptions.  I 
have  known,  it  is  true,  one  or  two  beings  who  did 
not  need  the  softening  illusory  veil." 

"I  would  rather  the  haze  would  lift  once  in  a 
while,"  said  Rosamond  with  decision.  "  Fancy  see 
ing  it  always  before  one's  eyes,  and  never  knowing 
what  lies  beneath." 

"But  if  ugly  sights  lie  beneath,  scarred  rocks, 
gloomy  chasms?  "  said  Miss  Lennox. 

"  Still,  I  should  want  to  see  them  once  as  they 
are,"  persisted  the  young  girl:  "then  your  pretty 
mists  and  hazes  might  roll  in,  and  beautify  as  much 
as  they  like.  But  the  naked  truth  I  must  have,  or 
be  miserable ; ' '  and  she  nodded  her  spirited  head 
conclusively,  as  if  the  truth  were  something  always 
to  be  found  if  courage  and  energy  go  in  pursuit. 

Aunt  Serena  shook  her  head  doubtfully .  "You 
are  very  young,  my  dear,"  she  said.  The  two  grew 
silent,  and  gazed  off  over  waves  tinged  deep  with 
the  sunset  glow.  They  saw  sleeping  forests,  golden 
and  violet  lights  trembling  and  fleeing  at  the  ap 
proach  of  the  strong,  dark  night,  remote  white,  shin 
ing  peaks,  and  all  the.  lofty  loveliness  of  the  moun 
tains.  Rose  grew  dreamy  and  wondering  before 
the  vastness  of  the  eternal  hills,  and  the  unknown 
future  stretching  out  beyond  her ;  while  the  swec  t 
old  eyes  looked  gentty  back  upon  the  heights  and 
depths,  the  sunshine  and  the  snows,  of  more  than 
sixty  years. 

So  they  went  on  in  their  uneventful  course,  in  the 


AUNT  SEEENA.  61 

travelling  world,  yet  not  of  it ;  and  after  a  few  days 
on  the  lake  of  Geneva,  where  they  went  only  because 
simple  Rose  had  actually  expressed  a  desire  to  see 
the  castle  of  Chillon,  —  being  uninstructed  by  late 
authorities,  and  not  knowing  that  she  would  be 
doing  that  venerable  old  pile  a  favor  by  visiting  it,  — 
they  turned  their  faces  toward  South  Germany  ;  and 
the  last  of  October  found  them  established  in  a 
family  pension  of  unquestionable  standing,  to  which 
unsuspecting  Miss  Lennox  had  been  led  by  the  let- 
teis  and  recommendations  of  friends. 


62  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  V. 

•'Forty  thousand  weathercocks, 
Each  well  minded  to  keep  his  place, 
Turning  about  in  the  great  and  small  ways  I 

I  cannot  tell  how  it  may  strike  you; 

But  it  strikes  me  now,  for  the  first  and  last  time, 
That  there  may  be  better  things  to  do 

Than  watching  the  weathercocks  for  pastime." 

OWEN  MEIJEDITH. 

T I  iHE  pension  proved  to  be,  upon  the  whole,  the 
-L  most  extraordinary  feature  of  Miss  Lennox's 
European  experience.  In  after  years  she  was  never 
able  to  allude  to  it  without  an  expression  of  mild 
surprise  creeping  over  her  face.  The  leaning  tower 
of  Pisa,  the  dimensions  of  St.  Peter's,  the  loftiness 
of  the  most  impressive  mountain,  the  curious  cus 
toms  of  the  most  curious  folk,  never  filled  her  with 
the  profound  amazement  to  which  the  idiosyncrasies 
of  the  pension  gave  birth  in  her  gentle  soul.  And  no 
two  mortals  from  the  sunn}r  over- world,  suddenly  find 
ing  themselves  among  the  restless  shades  of  Hades, 
could  have  been  more  at  variance  with  their  surround 
ings  than  were  she  and  Rosamond  amid  the  motley 
assembly,  the  gossip,  the  more  or  less  successful 
social  struggles,  the  petty  jealousies  and  bickerings 
of  this  caravansary.  They  were,  it  is  to  be  hoped, 


AUNT  SEE  EN  A.  63 

not  all  bad  at  heart,  these  twelve  or  fifteen  fellow- 
boarders.  Collectively,  they  sometimes  seemed 
positively  iniquitous.  The  dwellers  in  Wynburg 
pensions  were,  for  the  most  part,  only  people  who 
had  little  to  do,  who  wished  to  be  amused,  and  had 
for  some  years  belonged  to  the  floating  population 
of  English  and  American  colonies  in  various  foreign 
cities.  Elderly  matrons  who  do  not  care  for  books, 
who  find  their  tongues  too  stiff  for  foreign  vowels, 
and  their  memories  treacherous  for  foreign  verbs, 
whose  young  daughters  are  busy  with  governesses 
and  music-masters,  must,  it  is  evident,  occupy  them 
selves  in  some  way.  At  home  they  were,  no  doubt, 
model  housekeepers,  expending  a  vast  amount  of 
energy  in  a  legitimate  direction,  and  being,  for  the 
most  part,  harmless  members  of  dull  and  respectable 
social  circles  in  provincial  towns.  There,  away  from 
their  ancient  landmarks,  deprived  of  the  duties  of 
their  order,  without  occupation  of  their  own,  they 
busied  themselves  with  other  people.  Their  inno 
cent,  elderly  heads  were  turned  by  the  titles  about 
them,  yet  beyond  their  reach,  since  impecunious 
counts  seek  wealth  to  build  up  their  fallen  fortunes  ; 
and  the  little  Matildas  studying  music  at  the  Con 
servatory,  daughters  of  this  class  of  women,  have 
usually  more  merit  than  money.  These  misguided 
souls  constituted  themselves  a  kind  of  inquisitorial 
committee  to  ferret  out  the  origin,  social  position, 
important  facts  in  the  past  history,  and  future  inten 
tions  of  new-comers  from  America.  It  is  a  curious 
psychological  problem,  this  effect  of  a  sojourn  in  a 


64  AUNT  SERENA. 

Continental  city  upon  mature,  prosaic  women,  this 
demoralization,  so  to  speak,  of  the  worthy  mothers 
in  Israel. 

At  home  they  may  have  had  few  or  no  social 
ambitions  ;  but  idleness,  under  these  rapidly  varying 
influences,  begets  snobbishness,  snobbishness  begets 
envy,  malice,  and  cruelty,  until  the  utterance  of  be 
littling  personalities  becomes  a  passion :  and,  if  a 
pure  archangel  had  descended  before  their  eyes,  his 
robe  would  not  have  been  white  enough  for  them, 
his  flaming  sword  not  bright  enough ;  and  they 
would  have  raised  their  eyebrows  questioningly 
over  his  social  position  unless  they  could  have  been 
assured  that  Mrs.  Van  Rensalaer  had  invited  him  to 
dine. 

This  class  made  the  rank  and  file.  The  leaders 
were  sometimes  women  with  more  or  less  claim  to 
position,  it  may  be  people  of  actual  social  distinc 
tion.  When  prominent  actors  in  this  daily  comedy 
had  known  each  other  at  home,  it  was  an  inestima 
ble  advantage.  "  Poor  dear  Mrs.  A  !  "  says  Mrs. 
B.  "  How  well  I  remember  her  in  New  York,  when 
she  was  t^ing  desperately  for  years  to  catch  young 
Goldfish ;  and  how  often  I  have  seen  her  brother 
lifted  drunk  from  his  carriage  !  "  "  Poor  dear  Mrs. 
B  !  "  says  Mrs.  A.  "  How  well  I  remember  her  in 
New  York,  though  I  never  did  believe  quite  all  the 
dreadful  things  they  said  about  her !  The  world  is 
so  harsh  in  its  judgments,  you  know.  Her  people 
were  nobodies.  Hardware,  I  believe.  My  dear 
brother  came  home  one  day  and  said  he  had  just 


AUNT  SERENA.  65 

ent  her  brother  fifty  cents  in  a  horso-ear."  And 
when  the  ladies  meet,  they  kiss,  and  greet  each 
other  with  graceful  and  solicitous  effusion. 

Viewed  simply  as  gossip,  standing  quite  on  its 
own  merits,  there  was  never  any  gossip  superior  to 
the  gossip  of  the  English-speaking  colony  of  Wyn 
burg.  The  ingenuous  tittle-tattle  of  a  rural  town, 
the  systematic,  well-organized  gossip  of  a  church 
sewing-society,  sewing  for  the  poor  of  the  par- 
« ish,  the  gossip  of  the  most  acidulated  and  ven 
omous  old  -maids,  even  the  gossip  of  gossippy  old 
men,  —  if  the  truth  were  known,  this  is  one  of  the 
most  virulent  forms  of  the  disease,  —  are  all  only  as 
moonlight  unto  sunlight  and  as  water  unto  wine, 
compared  with  the  gossip  of  Wynburg.  This  had 
a  freshness,  an  elasticity,  a  vigor,  a  creative  power, 
all  its  own.  Meet  a  false  story  boldly,  fight  with 
it,  crush  it  to  earth,  Antaeus-like  it  gained  strength, 
and  rose  to  confront  you  at  every  turn.  It  is  possi 
ble  elsewhere  that  time  may  soften  harsh  facts  in 
your  life's  story,  that  people  may  forget.  Never 
here.  In  some  places  one  may  escape  comment  by 
living  a  secluded  life.  In  Wynburg,  gossip  angrily 
defied  you  to  dwell  apart,  and,  if  you  persisted, 
proclaimed  your  nefarious  secret  schemes  in  the 
market-place.  English  and  American  old  residents 
preserved  the  traditions  intact.  Women  living  in 
pensions  brought  new  material,  combined  and  dis 
seminated. 

Even  the  little  English  church  was  made  an  in 
strument  in  the  work  of  propagation.      This  was 


66  AUNT  SERENA. 

surely  not  the  Mother  Church,  offering  her  warn  and 
loving  shelter  to  poor,  oppressed,  and  weary  wan 
derers.  Homesick  souls  who  hoped  to  find  the  pro 
tection  and  comfort  that  had  never  failed  them 
within  the  walls  of  the  sanctuary,  felt  lonely  and 
lost  amid  the  restless,  pushing  woiidliness  of  this 
ante-room  to  society,  where  eager  aspirants  thronged 
to  pass  preliminary  examination,  and  more  favored 
ones  competed  for  possible  promotion. 

Dearest  enemies  met  here,  and  called  themselves 
with  truth  lost  sheep  Sunday  after  Sunday,  and,  after 
the  peace  of  God  of  the  benediction,  watched  greed 
ily  at  the  porch  for  a  bow  from  Lady  Manners,  anx 
ious  to  observe  if  she  had  or  had  not  noticed  the 
pretty  widow  who  had  appeared  only  two  days  be 
fore,  and  whom  the  experts  found  difficulty  in  clas 
sifying. 

The  little  temple  had  a  strait  gate  and  a  nar 
row  way ;  but  whither  it  led,  the  saintliest  charity 
must  have  discerned.  Many  salaams  and  genuflec 
tions  were  made  within  its  walls  to  powers  of  this 
world ;  and  the  people  who  had  been  rending  one 
another  all  the  week  met  to  take  account  of  stock, 
and  see  that  no  one  had  been  forgotten  in  the  inven 
tory.  The  sermon  droned  out  by  the  English  curate, 
the  choir,  consisting  chiefly  of  voluntary  offerings  of 
voices  that  could  not  sing,  were  to  Vanity  Fair  not 
specially  attractive  formalities.  Yet  the  little 
church  was  always  full.  You  saw  everybody  there, 
for  one  thing.  Then  there  was  a  certain  pleasure 
in  admitting,  in  a  safe,  general  way  tha'  you  had 


AUNT  SERENA.  67 

been  erring  and  straying,  when  Mrs.  Van  Eensa- 
laer  on  the  left,  and  Lady  Manners  on  the  right, 
were  condescending  so  much  as  to  publicly  sta^e 
that  they  had  been  erring  and  straying  too. 

The  many  thriving  pensions  worked,  then,  like  so 
many  mills,  and,  together  with  the  beneficent  influ 
ence  of  the  aristocratic  little  brown  church,  kept  the 
American  and  English  colony  of  Wynburg  in  a 
delightfully  wide-awake  condition  ;  and  the  well-fed 
current  of  sprightly  personal  discussion  swept  vig 
orously  along.  Happily,  our  innocent  travellers 
were  not  aware  of  the  peculiar  piquant  joys  in  store 
for  them ;  and  the  evening  of  their  arrival,  dusty, 
travel-stained,  and  weary,  they  viewed  their  haven 
of  rest  with  indescribable  content. 

The  house  was  well  built  and  modern,  with  the 
advantage  of  somewhat  aesthetic  surroundings  in  the 
shape  of  old  mottled  red  roofs  rising  in  every  direc 
tion.  It  stood  on  slightly  elevated  ground.  Op 
posite  its  entrance  was  one  of  those  small  and 
distinctively  German  parks  where  every  winding 
and  would-be-sequestered  way  is  lighted  by  a  glar 
ing  gas-lamp  ;  and  every  preposterously  uncomfort 
able  bench,  seen  in  the  distance,  looks  beguiling, 
while  approached,  and  viewed  beneath  the  prying 
stare  of  the  lamp,  suggests  the  chronic  objection  of 
the  German  municipal  authorities  to  love's  young 
dream. 

This  first  night  the  pension  did  not  show  its  cloven 
hoof.  Its  expression  was  mild  and  welcoming.  Its 
conditions  were  as  smooth  as  its  highly  polished 


68  AUNT  SERENA. 

parquet-floors,  and  Frau  Rudolph  beamed  upon 
them  with  the  cordial  smile  which  she  had  practised 
for  twenty  years  with  admirable  results.  She  was  a 
bit  of  a  diplomate  iu  her  way,  this  stout  and  excel 
lent  person. 

"  They  come  and  they  go,"  she  would  say  mean 
ingly  to  her  own  people.  "  They  come  and  they 
go !  What  is  the  use  of  liking  people  who  come 
and  go?"  But  she  was  kind  and  watchful  and 
wise  and  scrupulously  honest,  and  the  people  who 
"come  and  go"  always  fared  well  with  her.  She 
smiled  when  she  understood  her  guests,  smiled 
equally  when  she  understood  nothing,  looked  after 
their  temporal  comforts  in  a  motherly  fashion,  never 
took  sides  in  their  quarrels,  or  indeed  recognized 
the  existence  of  any  unpleasantness  beneath  her 
roof,  however  much  complaint  was  poured  into  her 
ears,  and  however  many  days  her  two  leading  ladies 
were  plainly  not  on  speaking-terms  at  dinner.  And 
while  on  the  other  hand,  since  nature  must  have  an 
outlet,  she  indulged  in  a  spirited  set-to  each  day 
with  her  brace  of  elephantine  Suabian  maid-servants, 
using  language  so  loud  and  vehement  it  would  seem 
almost  impossible  for  them  to  forget  it,  either  in  this 
world  or  in  the  world  to  come,  in  realit}T  the  bitter 
ness  of  her  invective  did  not  detract  from  the  kindly 
relationship  of  mistress  and  maid,  but  was  all  vox 
et  praeterea  nihil,  resembling  abuse  only  as  the 
loud  crack  of  a  whip  in  the  ears  of  a  toiling  cart 
horse  resembles  the  cruel  lash  on  his  patient  flank. 
A  long  residence  in  Germany  is  apt  to  teach  us  of  a 


AUNT  SERENA.  69 

moi'e  thin-skinned  and  irritable  race ;  that  violent 
quarrels  often  go  for  nothing ;  that  railings  and 
revilings  are  only  a  kind  of  sanitary  measure,  like 
a  locomotive  letting  off  steam ;  that  the  good  f<  >lk 
may  be  warmest  friends  in  spite  of  these  little  eccen 
tricities  of  intercourse  ;  and  woe  be  to  the  stranger 
who,  from  philanthropic  or  other  motives,  interferes. 

Smiling  Fran  Rudolph,  then,  with  rosy  cheeks, 
smooth  brown  hair,  and  small  shrewd  eyes,  meets 
Miss  Lennox  and  Rosamond  at  the  door,  and  with 
cheery  bustle  directs  the  arrangement  of  their  trunks, 
all  the  time  taking  their  measure.  "  They  will  not 
like  the  colonel  or  clumsy  Mrs.  Lancaster,  and  they 
will  not  at  first  understand  Mrs.  Vivien ;  but  later, 
ah,  later!"  and  her  03*68  twinkled  maliciously. 
Then  aloud  to  the  men,  "So,  straight  across  until 
they  are  unpacked."  To  the  ladies,  in  her  careful 
English,  "  Like  you  it  not  so,  madame?  So  it  will 
be  besser?"  Seizing  a  large  bag,  and  continuing 
her  mental  processes,  "  They  have  soft  ways.  The 
little  old  one  is  a  good  one.  She  will  be  good  to 
Fraulein  Gertrude.  We  shall  see.  We  shall  see. 
But  they  will  not  stay."  "  So,  my  ladies,"  she 
remarks,  "command  you  tea?  command  you  meat? 
No?  Then,  I  leave  you  now  to  sweet  repose.  What 
you  wish,  you  ring.  I  hope  you  be  awfully  happy 
by  me." 

Having  made  her  little  speech  with  smiling  de 
liberation,  Frau  Rudolph  briskly  withdraws. 

"  What  a  comfortable,  nice  sort  of  person,  and 
what  delicious  English !  "  laughed  Rose. 


70  AUNT  SERENA, 

"  Slang  seems  the  easiest  part  of  a  language," 
remarked  Miss  Lennox  meditatively,  "  for  a  for 
eigner  to  learn.  Now,  there  was  that  nice-looking 
clerk  in  the  shop  in  Geneva,  where  we  were  looking 
at  watches,  who  was  a  miracle  of  courtes}  in  French, 
and  who,  finding  we  spoke  English,  was  so  eager  to 
air  his  own,  and  so  innocently  amusing  with  his 
abrupt  "  Now,  then,  old  lady.  Look  alive  !  It's  all 
right,  you  bet!" 

"  Wretched  little  man  !  "  exclaimed  Rose,  "  I  do 
wish  somebod}7  would  say  such  a  thing  to  aunt 
Harriet,  she  would  be  so  infuriated ;  and  it's  quite 
lost  on  you,  you  dear!  "  and  she  carefully  removed 
Miss  Lennox's  hat  and  travelling- cape  from  that 
very  weary  little  lady,  who  was  reclining  in  a  great 
chair  as  if  glad  to  find  something  at  last  with  a 
stationary  back.  "  Nothing  aifects  your  dignity, 
because  yours  is  the  right  kind." 

"  Of  course  I  could  not  blame  the  poor  young 
man,  who  was  doing  his  very  best  for  me,  and  look 
ing  at  me  with  the  most  deferential  and  affable  ex 
pression  in  the  world ;  but  I  did  regret  that  he  had 
learned  his  English  in  so  curious  a  school,"  said 
Miss  Lennox  placidly. 

Rose  looked  at  the  gentle,  weary  face,  still  smiling 
in  indulgent  remembrance  of  the  luckless  salesman's 
English,  and  glancing  with  somewhat  humorous  ob 
servation  at  the  rooms  which  were  to  be  their  winter 
quarters.  A  sudden  compunction  seized  the  girl. 

' '  Oh  !  do  you  think  you  will  be  happy  here  ?  ' '  she 
exclaimed.  "You  are  so  angel-good  to  me,  and  I 


AUNT  SEEENA.  71 

have  dragged  you  so  far  from  home,  and  I  know 
you  are  more  tired  than  you  ever  say.  Shall  you 
like  it?  Can  we  make  it  seem  home-y  to  you?  "  and 
Rose  looked  anxious!}'  about,  then  knelt,  and  pressed 
her  warm  cheek  against  aunt  Serena's,  and  caressed 
the  delicate  hands  that  lay  listless  and  fatigued  on 
the  carved  oak  arms  of  Frau  Rudolph's  sainted 
grandmother's  best  chair. 

"You  spoil  me,  dearest  child.  The  absurdity  of 
spoiling  an  old  woman  like  me  ! ' '  said  aunt  Serena 
cheerfully ;  but  she  closed  her  eyes,  and  gently 
threw  back  her  head,  with  an  air  of  breathing  in 
with  every  breath  a  positive  and  blessed  rest.  "  Yes, 
dear,  I  shall  like  it.  I  do  like  it.  In  fact,  I  regard 
the  journey  as  a  distinguished  success.  It  is  true,  I 
have  been  somewhat  addicted  to  starting  off  the 
train  at  every  station,  nervously  insisting  that  we 
had  arrived  at  our  destination,  and  no  doubt  being  a 
great  annoyance  to  the  good-natured  guards  " — 

' '  Who  were  always  kindly  but  unceremoniously 
pushing  us  back  in  our  places,  as  if  we  were  ani 
mated  travelling-bags,"  laughed  Rose. 

"  But  people  have  been  very  good  to  us,  even  if 
we  were  stupid,  and  could  not  understand  their 
words  :  happily  one  needs  no  encyclopaedia  to  inter 
pret  kindness.  And  now,  my  rosebud,  I  confess  I 
am  glad  to  rest,  indefinitely  rest ;  and,  if  you  are 
happy,  I  shall  be,"  she  concluded  emphatically. 
Opening  her  eyes,  and  looking  about  with  mild 
scrutiny,  "We  will  put  some  rugs  down  on  this 
glassy  floor,  I  think,  my  dearie ;  because  old  bones 


72  AUNT  SERENA. 

are  brittle,  and  I  never  learned  to  skate  when  I  was 
young.  A  few  touches  here  and  there,  some  books 
and  pictures,  will  make  the  rooms  delightful.  Now 
draw  up  those  jalousies,  Rose,  and  open  all  the 
casements,  that  we  may  see  to  what  shores  we  have 
drifted." 

A  flood  of  western  sunlight  poured  through  several 
large  windows  into  the  room.  Beyond  the  broad 
street  rose  high,  irregular,  red  roofs,  upon  which 
little  dormer  windows  blossomed  out  in  a  rich  and 
surprising  growth,  and  threw  long,  sharp  shadows 
over  mossy,  mottled  red,  golden-brown,  and  green 
ish-gray  patches.  In  the  highest  little  window  of 
the  highest  roof  was  a  pot  of  crimson  pinks,  a  great 
white  cat,  with  his  tail  stiffly  erect,  and  a  babj^'s 
shirt  hanging  to  dry,  —  all  making  a  subtle  sugges 
tion  of  home-happiness  under  the  ridgepole.  Over 
the  way,  in  the  small  park,  were  a  couple  of  sleepy 
nurses  in  attendance  on  some  staid,  solemn  babies, 
and  a  group  of  laughing  children.  One  of  those 
daint}',  languid,  melted-into-his-uniform,  blond  lieu 
tenants,  who  can  be  so  recklessly,  magnificently  brave 
in  action,  sauntered  by  to  the  music  of  his  own  sabre 
and  spurs.  The  air  was  cool,  yet  soft  with  the  haze 
of  late  October.  As  they  stood,  silent  and  content, 
from  the  old,  gra}r,  stone  tower  off  at  the  left  a  cho 
ral,  a  harvest-soug  of  thanksgiving,  sounded  through 
the  still  air.  They  did  not  know  what  it  was,  but 
its  effect  was  unspeakably  sweet  and  solemn.  Be 
yond  the  church-tower  and  the  roofs  rose  the  gently 
undulating  hills,  encircling  the  whole  city  like  loving, 


AUNT  SERENA.  73 

clasping  arms,  and  to-day,  seen  through  the  autumn 
mists,  as  darkly  blue  as  the  bloom  of  the  grapes  that 
ripen  on  their  sunny  slopes. 

Rose  drew  a  deep  breath.  "It  is  lovely,"  she 
said.  "And  the  strangest  thing  is,  that  we  are  in  it. 
When  other  people  are  in  such  things,  it  never 
seems  strange  ;  but  to  feel  ourselves  in  it !  Are  you 
sure  you  like  it?  "  she  asked  again  anxiously. 

"  If  this  is  what  you  call  'it,'  I  am  sure  I  do, 
very  sure,"  said  Miss  Lennox  softly.  "  Let  your 
heart  be  quite  at  rest  about  me,  my  sweet  child  ;  " 
and  they  stood  together  at  the  casement,  while  the 
music  from  the  high  tower  floated  over  the  city,  and 
the  hill-tops  shone  out  in  the  sunlight  above  the 
purple  mists. 


74  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

Ot  TO:  awex&eiv,  aXka  avwfr&eiv  ityuv. 

"  Thay  say.    Quhat  say  thay  ?    Thay  haf  said.    Lat  them 
say." 

"  OALT  !  "  commanded  the  colonel  in  a  stentorian 
lO  voice,  as  if  at  the  head  of  his  regiment.  Miss 
Lennox  started  nervously,  not  accustomed  to  so 
much  basso  prof  undo  at  dinner.  Rose  repressed  a 
smile,  and  the  salt  meekly  marched  up  to  the  head 
of  the  table.  As  no  one  seemed  surprised,  she 
justly  concluded  that  this  was  the  colonel's  habitual 
manner.  "Will  he  now  say,  'Present  spoons'?" 
she  wondered.  Glancing  about  with  considerable 
amusement,  she  met  the  direct  gaze  of  a  pale,  fair- 
haired  girl,  who  had  come  in  late,  and,  with  a 
haughty,  almost  imperceptible  greeting,  directed  to 
no  one  in  particular,  had  quietly  taken  her  place, 
and  devoted  her  exclusive  attention  to  a  plate  of 
very  cold  soup.  Past  Mrs.  Lancaster  —  who  was 
a  widow  indeed  —  and  her  little  daughters ;  past 
the  voluble,  graceful,  smooth-tongued  Mrs.  Vivien, 
—  who  was  what  may  be  called  an  American 
widow,  having  been  for  five  years  regretting  that 
Mr.  Vivien's  business  kept  him  in  New  York ; 
past  two  shy  students,  a  Norwegian  and  a  South- 


AUNT  SERENA.  75 

American,  who  understood  little  English,  —  Rose 
met  the  keen  inquiry  of  the  strange  girl's  eyes ; 
and  then,  the  kindly  smile  vanishing  as  it  appeared 
on  the  rather  sarcastic  lips,  and  she  knew  that  her 
objections  to  the  colonel  were  shared  by  one  of  the 
company  at  least.  "How  pretty  and  clever  she 
looks !  I  wish  I  could  speak  to  her.  Why  does 
she  talk  with  nobody  ?  and  why  does  nobody  intro 
duce  her  to  us?  Every  body  else  was  introduced." 
Bosc's  speculations  were  interrupted  b}T  the  colonel, 
who,  with  both  elbows  on  the  table,  was  remarking 
encouragingly,  — 

"Now,  I  say,  you  Americans  on  the  Continent, 
you  could  learn  considerable  from  us  English,  if 
you'd  only  take  the  trouble."  And  his  wife  and 
four  children  gazed  at  him  with  inexpressible  pride 
and  admiration.  "  This  gigantic  idea  could  only 
have  emanated  from  papa,"  was  depicted  upon  their 
rapt  faces. 

"We  can  all  learn  from'  one  another  in  this 
world,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lancaster  in  a  heavy,  un 
compromising  manner,  from  the  opposite  end  of  the 
table.  She  did  not  like  the  colonel,  did  not  intend 
to  be  put  down  by  him,  and  never  forgot  that  the 
lute  Mr.  Lancaster  had  been  member  of  Congress. 

"  Now,  colonel,  don't  you  think  I  make  the  most 
of  my  advantages?"  inquired  little  Mrs.  Vivien, 
smiling,  and  shaking  her  bangles. 

"I  do,"  solemnly  answers  the  colonel,  who  was 
not  insensible  to  Mrs.  Vivien's  purring  attractions. 
She  was  so  childlike,  so  deprecating  with  men,  they 


76  AUNT  SERENA. 

all  liked  her.  She  seemed  to  be  hanging  anxiously 
upon  the  colonel's  words.  "I  do,"  he  repeats. 
"  You  might  have  been  a  very  different  woman  if 
you'd  always  lived  in  America." 

Mrs.  Lancaster's  silent  commentary  was,  *I 
should  say  as  much,  and  it's  a  pity  she  has  not ,  " 
but,  as  she  and  Mrs.  Vivien  were  useful  to  each 
other,  her  countenance  was  discreetly  impassive. 

The  pale  girl,  however,  smiled  peculiarly,  which 
did  not  escape  Mrs.  Vivien's  glance,  innocently 
roving  in  search,  it  would  appear,  of  sympathy  in 
her  work  of  self-improvement,  and  encouragement 
to  renewed  efforts. 

"Little  minx!  I  owe  her  another  one,"  she  re 
corded  on  the  strong  tablets  of  her  memory.  "  Miss 
Peyton,"  she  said  very  gently,  and  slightly  drooping 
her  eyelids,  "are  you  not  looking  pale  to-day?  I 
hope  you  are  not  working  too  hard.  You  should 
really  take  more  exercise.  If  you  are  too  occupied 
daj's,  why  not  a  little  stroll  evenings  ?  You  could 
prevail  upon  Frau  Rudolph,  or  some  other  nice, 
responsible  person,  to  take  you  out,  I  am  sure,  dear 
Miss  Peyton." 

"  Thanks,  Mrs.  Vivien.  I  am  often  out  evenings, 
as  you  know.  I  saw  you  watching  in  your  window 
as  I  came  in  last  night  at  ten,"  said  Miss  Pe3'ton  in 
a  rich,  contralto  voice,  and  with  perfect  composure. 

Her  voice  was  so  beautiful,  Miss  Lennox  and  Rose 
glanced  at  her  with  evident  interest. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vivien  sweetly.  "  I  was  watch 
ing  the  stars.  I  am  so  fond  of  Sirius  !  "  she  added 


AUNT  SERENA.  11 

dreamily.  "But  you  give  the  first  watch  of  the 
night  to  Mars,  to  the  red  planet  Mars,  do  you  not, 
Miss  Peyton?" 

"  I  never  studied  astronomy,  and  I  am  not  poeti 
cal,"  said  Miss  Peyton  in  her  cool,  sweet  tones. 
"  But  if  you  mean  to  say  you  saw  me  walking  with 
Lieut,  von  Falkenstein,  your  eyes  did  not  deceive 
you." 

A  rustle  of  horror  agitated  the  assembly.  Mrs. 
Vivien  looked  around  with  appealing  eyes  which 
seemed  to  sa}-,  "  I  call  the  gods  to  witness  that  I 
have  not  invoked  this  catastrophe."  The  wife  of  the 
colonel  seemed  about  to  gather  her  chickens  under 
her  wing ;  and  Mrs.  Lancaster's  twins,  not  bad- 
looking  girls  of  fifteen,  looked  at  their  mamma  and 
giggled,  then  looked  at  each  other  and  giggled  again, 
tried  to  appear  shocked  and  important  like  their 
mamma,  yet  were  so  overjoyed  to  even  hear  a  lieu 
tenant's  name  mentioned,  their  mouths  broke  out 
into  involuntary  smiles,  and  their  eyes  danced  with 
delight. 

Miss  Lennox  was  looking  at  Gertrude  Peyton 
with  gentle  directness.  "  Why  is  this  pretty  young 
girl  so  cold  and  defiant?  She  has  an  honest,  sensi 
tive  face.  I  fear  she  is  unhappy.  They  may  not 
understand  her.  I  will  say  something  to  her." 
fiui  before  Miss  Lennox  could  speak,  Rose,  who  had 
been  silent,  oppressed  by  the  strange  and  unsympa 
thetic  atmosphere,  quite  forgot  it  in  a  chivalrous 
desire  to  enroll  herself  under  the  banner  of  the 
attacked,  and  began,  with  a  little  constraint,  since 


78  AUNT  SERENA. 

Gertrude's  haughty  face  gave  her,  in  itself,  no  en 
couragement,  "  I  am  glad  you  like  walking,  Miss 
Peyton.  Perhaps  you  will  let  me  go  with  you  some 
times.  I'm  always  eager  for  exercise,  and  my  poor 
aunt  makes  a  martyr  of  herself  for  me." 

AVithout  speaking,  Gertrude  Peyton  looked  with 
grave  expectance  at  Miss  Lennox.  "  Will  this  little 
fine  old  lady,  with  the  silvery  hair  and  luminous 
eyes,  turn  from  me  like  all  the  world?  Will  she 
hush  into  silence  this  cordial  voice,  the  only  one  that 
has  been  raised  for  me  in  three  long  years  ?  ' '  she 
thought  bitterly.  Yet  her  glance  betrayed  no  anx 
iety,  no  bitterness.  With  composure  it  rested  on 
the  face  of  the  aunt,  instead  of  on  that  of  the  young 
girl  who  had  spoken.  Mrs.  Vivien  smiling,  and 
gently  smoothing  the  lace  at  her  wrists,  was  also 
waiting.  They  had  not  long  to  wait. 

"  I  should  be  grateful  to  you,  my  dear,"  Miss 
Lennox  said,  "  if  you  would  care  to  show  my  niece 
the  pretty  ways  about  these  hills :  at  home  in  the 
country  she  goes  alone  very  often,  but  I  believe  it  is 
not  customary  here  ;  ' '  and  she  looked  about  with 
gentle  inquiry. 

' '  It  would  not  be  proper  for  Miss  Rosamond 
Wellesley,"  remarked  Mrs.  Lancaster,  with  the  air 
of  &  mistress  of  ceremonies  at  the  Spanish  court. 
It  was  already  whispered  in  the  pension  that  Miss 
Lennox  was  one  of  the  Northbrooke  Lennoxes,  and 
that  the  young  girl  was  more  or  less  connected  with 
the  Beacons  wolds  of  Boston,  also  that  they  had  a 
letter  of  introduction  to  the  Raymonds,  all  of  which 


AUNT  SERENA.  79 

naturally  opened  the  way  to  the  Van  Rensalaers,  if 
not  to  Lady  Manners. 

u  It  was  only  by  accident  that  I  found  it  out,'' 
Mrs.  Vivien  had  whispered  that  morning  to  Mrs. 
Lancaster.  "  She  acts  as  if  she  were  not  going  to 
make  much  of  it,  looked  quite  blankly  at  me  when  I 
asked  her  if  she  had  left  her  card  at  the  Raj'mouds, 
then  smiled  rather  curiously,  and  said  she  had  hardly 
yet  recovered  her  breath  from  her  journey."  —  "  Oh, 
she's  guarded,  she's  guarded !  That  cooing-dove 
kind  of  woman  always  is,"  Mrs.  Lancaster  had  re 
plied,  with  her  ponderous  infallibility.  She  goes 
on,  "  It  would  be  highly  undesirable  for  Miss  Rosa 
mond  Wellesley,"  which  clearly  implied  that  it  was 
a  matter  of  utter  indifference  to  her  and  to  people 
in  general  what  Miss  Gertrude  Peyton  did  or  did 
not  do. 

"  Why,  this  is  positive  cruelty  to  animals," 
thought  aunt  Serena  pityingly ;  and  Rose  turned 
straight  to  her,  and  laid  her  hand  appealtngly  on 
her  aunt's  knee  under  the  table. 

"  And,  my  dear,"  aunt  Serena  continued,  as  if 
unmindful  of  all  except  the  pale  girl  whose  quiet 
face  was  regarding  only  her,"  if  you  can  have 
patience  with  an  old  woman  who  is  not  a  very  val 
iant  climber,  I  wish  you  }~oung  people  would  take 
me  with  you  occasionally.  There  is  a  tower  I 
saw  ' '  — 

A  great  wave  of  color  swept  over  Gertrude  Pey 
ton's  white  face,  and  in  her  eyes  was  a  shining, 
suffused  look.  She  knew  how  to  bear  stabs  without 


80  AUNT  SERENA. 

flinching,  but  this  benign  protecting  arm  reaching 
out  as  if  to  bless  her  weary  young  head  !  She  sim 
ply  could  not  speak  ;  and  Rosamond  broke  in  with  a 
little  nervous  laugh,  "  O  auntie,  you  could  never, 
never  walk  so  far  as  that  tower !  It  is  miles  away, 
I  am  sure." 

"  Four  English  miles  from  here  by  the  foot-path, 
which  is  steep,  five  by  the  winding  carriage-road," 
stated  the  colonel.  He  had  been  paying  little  atten 
tion  to  the  conversation.  He  did  not  like  woman's 
talk,  and  he  did  like  his  dinner ;  but  if  the}r  wanted 
to  know  any  thing  sensible,  —  distances,  statistics,  — 
that  was  another  thing. 

His  burly,  self-important,  yet  not  unkind  voice 
seemed  to  relieve  the  over-charged  atmosphere. 
Gertrude  rapidly  recovered  her  usual  reticent  man 
ner;  and  the  conversation,  growing  general,  strayed 
innocently  enough  through  shady  lanes,  by-wai  s; 
and  woodlands,  counting  miles  and  noting  views 
about  Wynburg.  Some  one  spoke  of  a  little  Gothic 
church  in  a  village  near  by,  and  the  colonel  in  high 
good-humor  gave  the  height  of  the  steeple. 

Presently  Mrs.  Lancaster,  who  was  a  person  to 
whom,  as  she  herself  admitted,  all  churches  looked 
alike,  inside  and  outside,  hills  were  an  aggravation 
and  woods  a  bore,  in  short,  to  whom  a  yellow  prim 
rose  was  a  yellow  primrose,  turns  squarely  upon 
Rose  with,  — 

' '  What  do  3rou  intend  to  pursue,  Miss  AVellesley  ? ' ' 

Rose  felt  a  strong  inclination  to  laugh.  A  vivid 
picture  of  a  rapid  chase,  a  wild  hunt,  a  fleet,  illu- 


AUNT  SERENA.  81 

sive  object  in  advance,  herself  breathlessly  following, 
was  suggested  by  Mrs.  Lancaster's  curiously  em 
phatic  "  pursue." 

"  I  do  not  quite  understand  }TOU,"  Rose  answered 
civilly. 

"I  mean  what  branches?  What  branches  are, 
you  going  to  pursue?  Molly  and  Daisy  pursue 
nine,"  said  the  complacent  mother.  "  But  perhaps 
you  are  finished." 

"I  hope  not,"  exclaimed  Rose  heartily.  "  I 
should  be  very  sorry  if  that  were  the  case ;  "  and 
she  laughed,  and  looked  at  her  aunt,  who  said,  "  I 
have  not  made  many  plans  as  yet,  not  even  about 
Rosamond's  studies.  We  have  simply  come,  that 
is  all." 

"Ah,  indeed!"  returned  Mrs.  Lancaster  rather 
stiffly.  She  disapproved  on  principle  of  people  who 
did  not  make  plans.  "  People  who  come  here  usu 
ally  have  an  object." 

"We  are  all  diligent  here,  especially  Miss  Pey 
ton.  She  is  so  very  diligent,"  sighed  Mrs.  Vivien 
with  a  voice  like  spun  glass. 

"  I  fear  we  have  no  plans,  at  least  none  that 
deserve  to  be  mentioned,"  Miss  Lennox  continued 
pleasantly.  "  We  hope  to  enjoy  ourselves.  I  think 
we  shall,"  she  added,  looking  cheerfully  around  the 
taTle,  and  letting  her  kind  glance  rest  on  Gertrude 
Pej'ton. 

Gertrude  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh  of  relief.  Actu 
ally  two  beings,  like  lilies  of  the  field,  that  neither 
toil  nor  spin,  like  fair  angels  from  the  skies  above, 


82  AUNT  SERENA. 

had  appeared,  with  no  plans,  no  object,  no  designs 
upon  the  Conservatory,  no  feverish  dream  of  taking 
an  express-train  up  the  hill  of  science,  no  spasmodic 
attempt  at  art- culture. 

"I  am  glad,"  she  said.  There  was  a  rich,  warm 
gladness  in  her  voice  that  surprised  herself. 

' '  Glad  that  we  are  indolent  ?  ' '  asked  Rose  with 
her  happy  smile. 

"Yes,  it  is  so  very  restful."  Gertrude  rose, 
and  after  her  queer  little  obeisance  to  the  world  at 
large,  as  it  were,  which  seemed  to  Rose  so  pretty 
and  foreign,  came  round  to  Miss  Lennox,  and  put 
out  her  hand  with  a  soft,  unwonted,  clinging  grace. 
Mrs.  Lancaster  sniffed,  the  colonel's  wife  stared, 
and  Mrs.  Vivien  smiled  her  gleaming  smile ;  but 
Gertrude,  unmoved,  without  a  word  closed  her  fin 
gers  firmty  over  aunt  Serena's,  then,  with  the  same 
seriousness,  took  Rose's  hand  in  hers,  and  quickly 
left  the  room.  They  little  knew  she  had  never  done 
so  much  before,  that  the  poor  child  had  never,  in 
deed,  had  occasion.  Already  she  felt  a  passionate 
gratitude  to  these  two  strangers.  "  The  world  may 
knock  me  about  as  it  will,"  thought  the  girl  proudly, 
"but  '  the  hand  of  Douglas  is  his  own.'  When  I 
give  my  hand  in  that  way,  I  give  my  faith.  They 
will  see." 

No  sooner  had  the  door  closed  than  Mrs.  Viv 
ien,  addressing  the  whole  dinner-company  in  her 
sweetly  confiding  way,  lamented  Miss  Peyton's  ec 
centricity.  "  Such  an  interesting  girl,  but  really  so 
eccentric,"  she  murmured.  "To  think  now  that 


AUNT  SERENA.  83 

she  could  so  misunderstand  me,  and  I  meant  it  so 
kindly." 

"  She  has  a  temper,"  thundered  the  colonel,  "  a 
temper  !  "  and  Miss  Lennox  started  again  suddenly. 
"No.  woman  has  any  right  to  have  a  temper. 
That's  what  I'm  always  telling  my  wife  ;  "  and  the 
choleric  colonel  glared  at  the  meek-.faced  partner  of 
his  joys  and  sorrows,  who  blushed  uneasily,  as  if 
somewhere  in  her  down-trodden  remembrance  a  lit 
tle  puny  ghost  of  a  temper  had  started  up  to  tor 
ment  her.  "  A  woman  ought  to  be  smooth-spoken, 
amiable,  amiable,"  he  repeated,  and  looked  with 
undisguised  approval  at  pretty  Mrs.  Vivien,  who 
modestly  cast  down  ter  eyes.  They  were  bright, 
clever  eyes  ;  and  no  one  had  ever  told  her  that  they 
were  too  near  together. 

' '  No  girl  is  an  interesting  girl  who  walks  out 
evenings  with  a  lieutenant,"  Mrs.  Lancaster,  the 
oracle,  announced.  "  Why,  if  my  Molly  and  my 
Daisy"  —  here  she  paused,  unable  through  excess 
of  maternal  solicitude  to  complete  her  sentence  ;  and 
the  twins  looked  at  each  other  in  a  sort  of  shudder 
ing  rapture.  It  could  never  be.  They,  too,  were 
proud  of  their  mamma's  eternal  vigilance.  They 
had  the  supreme  consciousness  that  no  twins  in  the 
world  were  better  chaperoned  than  they,  Molly  and 
Daisy  Lancaster ;  and  yet  —  to  walk  out  evenings 
with  a  lieutenant!" — there  was  bliss  in  the  mere 
shadowy  suggestion. 

Mrs.  Vivien  nodded  regretfully,  as  if  justice  com 
pelled  her  to  support  her  friend  Mrs.  Lancaster's 


84  AUNT  SERENA. 

pronunciamento,  even  though  the  foolish  promptings 
of  a  too  kind  heart  would  seek  to  protect  the  mis 
guided  girl. 

' '  Let  us  throw  the  mantle  of  charity  over  the 
lieutenant,"  she  suggested  sweetly. 

"  It  would  have  to  be  a  very  large  mantle,  if  he's 
that  enormous  young  man  I  saw  on  the  stairs  yes 
terday,"  said  Rose  in  a.  quick  undertone  to  her 
aunt. 

Mrs.  Vivien,  whom  nothing  escaped,  noticed  the 
girl's  merry  manner,  though  she  did  not  hear  the 
words.  "And  yet  I  am  sure  some  girls  would  and 
could  not  be  so  sadly  indiscreet  as  poor  dear  Miss 
Peyton.  Now,  you,  for  instance,  Miss  Wellesley, 
could  any  thing  induce  you  to  take  an  evening  stroll 
with  a  lieutenant  ?  Could  }'ou  imagine  it  ?  ' ' 

"Why  not?"  said  Rose  simply  and  quite  un 
abashed,  "if  he  were  very  nice." 

"  What  a  very  wonderful  _young  lady,"  thought 
Molly  and  Daisy  Lancaster,  opening  their  blue  eyes 
very  wide,  "  to  dare  sa,y  such  a  thing  !  " 

Aunt  Serena  looked  amused.  Rose's  training, 
like  that  of  most  well-bred  American  girls,  had  led 
her  to  have  no  instinctive  fear  or  even  consciousness 
in  the  presence  of  men.  She  neither  regarded  them 
each  and  all  as  wolves  nor  as  possible  lovers ;  and 
while  her  youth  and  secluded  life  had  thrown  her 
perhaps  unusually  little  into  men's  society,  her 
frank,  half  boyish  comradeship  with  her  cousin  Har 
old,  and  her  aid  to  her  aunt  in  dispensing  the  hospi 
tality  of  the  Nest,  whenever  old  friends  appeared  to 


AUNT  SERENA.  85 

claim  it,  above  all  her  veiy  slight  knowledge  of  flip 
pant,  vulgar  chatter,  and  her  constant  intercourse 
with  a  woman  of  rare  dignity,  and  nobleness  of 
thought,  had  united  to  render  her  perfectly  simple 
and  natural  to  men  as  to  women.  She  had  been 
always  guarded,  but  the  necessity  of  the  guard  had 
never  been  made  apparent  or  even  mentioned  to  her. 
She  was  even  capable  of  being  utterly  unconscious 
of  the  astounding  fact  of  a  tete-a-tete  with  a  man. 
As  no  one  had  ever  implied  to  her  that  there  was 
any  thing  dangerous  or  sinful  in  being  alone  with 
any  one  whatever,  she  would  look  straight  into  the 
face  of  the  person  with  whom  she  was  talking,  with 
her  calm,  wide,  child-like  eyes  that  could  so  quickly 
grow  eager  or  mirthful  with  a  suggestive  word  or  a 
passing  thought.  Perhaps  the  day  woulcl  come  when 
the  clear,  steady  eyes  would  droop  and  the  brave 
mouth  would  tremble  in  the  presence  of  a  man  ;  but 
surely  not  for  every  man  must  she  lose  her  sweet 
freedom  and  fearlessness.  Not  for  every  man  must 
she  falter  and  flutter.  Not  before  every  man  must 
her  high,  pure  spirit  do  obeisance.  What  will  the 
true  king  have  when  he  comes  to  his  throne,  if  his 
golden  tribute  has  been  wasted  on  every  passer-by  ? 
And  when  will  the  dull  world  learn  that  truth  may 
look  out  of  the  heart  of  a  maiden  through  loyal, 
fearless  eyes,  while  false  coquetry  often  droops  the 
lid,  and  sends  the  shy,  conscious  flush  to  the  check? 

But  naturally  Miss  Lennox  was  amused. 

"Here  is  my  Rose,"  she  thought,  "my  fresh 
wild-rose,  actually  discussing  a  question  of  etiquette 


86  AUNT  SERENA. 

publicly.     Good.     She  may  be  rash :  she  will 
be  ignoble." 

"I  ani  sure  you  are  playful,  Miss  "Wellesley," 
returned  Mrs.  Vivien  in  a  caressing  tone.  "  She  is 
very  playful,  is  she  not,  Miss  Lennox?  " 

"  I  think  not  at  this  moment." 

"  You  see,  my  dear  Miss  Wellesley,  you  are  very 
young ;  but  you  have  your  estimable  aunt  always 
near  you.  I  am  sure  you  would  be  incapable  of  the 
slightest  indiscretion." 

"  But  a  girl  can  make  mistakes,"  said  Rose  reso- 
luteby,  "and  people  may  have  different  ideas  and 
still  do  nothing  wrong,"  with  a  vivid  remembrance 
of  Miss  Weatherstone ;  "and"  —disconnectedly  — 
"  I  think  it  was  very  nice  of  Miss  Peyton  to  take 
little  walks  with  that  lieutenant." 

Again  an  ecstatic  shudder  seized  Molly's  and 
Daisy's  souls. 

"Ah!"  sighed  Mrs.  Vivien  softly,  "Miss  Pey 
ton,  —  that's  quite  another  thing." 

"Yes,"  said  Miss  Lennox  cheerily ;  "because 
she  is  alone,  she  would  more  naturally  be  led  to  seek 
young,  bright  companionship." 

"  She  seeks  it,  or  it  seeks  her,  whichever  it  may 
be,  every  two  or  three  days  about  eight  in  the  even 
ing;  "  and  Mrs.  Vivien  showed  her  claws,  and  for 
once  forgot  to  purr. 

"But"—  Rose  checked  herself.  She  had  the 
habit  of  deference  to  older  women.  This  Mrs.  Vivien 
irritated  her,  and  she  was  afraid  of  saying  too 
much. 


AUNT  SERENA.  87 

"  I  like  Miss  Peyton,"  said  Miss  Lennox  slowly. 
"  I  hope  to  see  much  of  her." 

"  Of  course,  dear  Miss  Lennox,  if  you  choose  to 
take  such  a  girl  up,  —  a  mere  nobody,"  murmured 
Mrs.  Vivien  with  suave  incoherence.  "  A  person  in 
your  position,  and  a  person  studying  music  "  — 

"  Still,  I  think  it  is  our  duty  to  tell  you,"  and 
Mrs.  Lancaster  solemnly  advanced  to  the  charge, 
' '  that  she  is  studying  music  professional!}",  as  it 
were,  not  as  a  mere  graceful  accomplishment  like 
Molly's  and  Daisy's." 

"Ah !  "  said  Miss  Lennox,  with  unfeigned  inter 
est. 

"And  I  have  even  heard,"  Mrs.  Lancaster  con 
tinued  with  her  most  lofty  Mother-of-the-Gracchi 
expression,  ''that  she  may  go  on  the  stage.  Con 
sequently,  while  nothing  would  induce  me  to  harm 
any  one's  reputation,  or  dictate  to  other  people,  I 
choose  to  protect  Molly  and  Daisy." 

Miss  Lennox  looked  puzzled.  "What  possible 
danger  threatened  the  twins?"  Frau  Rudolph,  as 
was  her  custom,  had  now  come  in  with  the  coffee, 
and  expressed  the  formal  wish  to  her  guests  that 
the  meal  might  be  blessed  to  them.  Having  per 
formed  this  ceremony,  which  she  herself  valued 
highly,  she  withdrew,  after  saying  cheerily  to  Miss 
Lennox  as  the  latest  comer,  "  You  find  itpeas-ible  b}' 
me?  Friendly  and  peas-ible ?  That  joys  me  much. 
Good-day,  my  ladies."  Frau  Rudolph  was  so  wise 
as  to  leave  her  guests  to  themselves  at  table,  and 
insure  the  proper  serving  of  the  dinner  by  her  per- 


88  AUNT  SERENA. 

sonal  superintendence  and  aid.  But  her  dignity  as 
mistress  of  the  house  she  nevertheless  scrupulously 
maintained,  and  she  would  have  considered  it  in 
jeopardy  had  she  omitted  this  brief  but  effective 
rite.  With  kindly,  unsuspicious  mien  she  turned 
her  rosy  face  kitchenwards.  "  They  are  serving  up 
Fraulein  Gertrude  with  the  Devil's  owu  sauce.  May 
he  fly  away  with  that  cat  Mrs.  Vivien  !  "  was,  how 
ever,  her  mental  soliloquy-.  "  The  Vivien  can  never 
let  the  child  alone ;  but  the  little  old  one  is  a  good 
one,  and  the  pretty  Rose  girl  is  a  hero.  There  she 
was  curling  and  quivering  her  lips  at  them,  and 
flashing  her  great  eyes,  and  still  looking  fresh  and 
sweet  as  a  flower  at  dawn.  I  would  like  those  two, 
the  old  one  and  the  little  Rose ;  but  they  will  not 
stay.  I  would  like  the  little  Gertrude  too.  But," 
shaking  her  wise  head,  "it  doesn't  pay.  They  all 
go.  Well,  well,  let  it  work.  It  always  works  when 
new  people  come."  And  with  a  contented  smile, 
philosophic  Frau  Rudolph  sipped  her  coffee,  black 
and  strong,  in  her  own  corner  among  her  shining 
pans,  threw  bread-crumbs  down  to  the  doves  in  the 
court,  and  put  the  yeast-like  elements  of  her  house 
hold  completely  out  of  her  mind. 

In  the  dining-room  "it,"  whatever  it  may  have 
been,  was  unquestionably  working. 

Miss  Lennox  had  said,  "Rose,  dear,  if  you  do 
not  care  for  coffee,  you  might  wait  for  me  in  jur 
rooms."  Rose  quickly  and  thankfully'  disappeared. 

"Curious!"  commented  watchful  Mrs.  Vivien. 
"  She  leaves  the  girl  free  to  have  opinions,  yet 


AUNT  SERENA.  89 

sends  her,  literally  sends  her,  from  the  table  like  a 
child." 

The  colonel,  satisfied  that  he  had  once  more 
helped  on  the  benevolent  work  of  regenerating 
Americans  on  the  Continent,  had  already  withdrawn 
with  his  fond  family,  which  was  at  least,  whatever 
spiritual  graces  it  left  to  be  desired,  neither  mali 
cious  nor  curious.  The  three  ladies  are  left  sipping 
their  coffee,  while  Molly  and  Daisy  almost  put  up 
their  ears  like  young  rabbits  in  their  eagerness  to 
know  what  is  coming. 

"  Your  niece  is  a  beautiful  girl,  Miss  Lennox," 
begins  Mrs.  Vivien,  "  a  most  charming  girl." 

"  Rose  is  a  good  child,"  says  aunt  Serena  sim- 

piy. 

' '  You  will  have  to  be  very  careful  of  her  over 
here,"  warns  Mrs.  Lancaster. 

"  Thanks.  Her  health  is  perfect.  She  does  not 
take  cold  easily,"  Miss  Lennox  responds  pleasantly  ; 
and  even  Mrs.  Vivien  cannot  tell  whether  this  ex 
traordinary  obtuseuess  is  real  or  feigned. 

"I  do  not  refer  to  her  health,"  says  the  Cassan 
dra  of  the  pension.  "I  refer  to  her  conduct,  her 
associations,  her  companions." 

' '  Ah !  and  that  suggests  a  little  matter  I  would 
like  to  ask  you,"  aunt  Serena  goes  on  in  her  placid 
fashion  ;  "  but  "  — here  she  looks  with  kind  inquiry 
at  the  twins  and  their  mamma. 

"Oh,  you  needn't  mind  Molly  and  Daisy.  I 
always  discuss  every  thing  before  them.  They 
know  my  principles.  I  intend  that  they  shall  have 


90  AUNT  SERENA. 

principles.  What  can  be  better  for  my  girlb  than 
the  constant  companionship  of  their  own  mamma  ?  ' ' 

Whether  this  profound  question  is  unanswerable 
or  net,  at  least  aunt  Serena  does  not  try  to  answer 
it.  "They  are  happily  very  young,  poor  dears: 
perhaps  they  ma}'  not  understand,"  she  thinks. 

She  accepts  the  situation,  and,  ignoring  the  twins, 
says,  — 

"  Of  course  I  would  not  wish  to  attach  undue  im 
portance  to  careless  table-talk.  Still,  as  Miss  Pey 
ton  interests  me,  I  hope  it  is  not  out  of  place  if  I 
ask  you  for  a  little  more  definite  information  about 
her." 

"  Definite  !  "  exclaims  Mrs.  Lancaster,  bridling. 

"  Yes,"  aunt  Serena  continues  with  her  courteous 
air.  "  Something  a  little  more  definite.  You  have, 
that  is  if  I  have  not  misunderstood  you,  plainly 
warned  me  against  Miss  Peyton." 

"  Advised,  — merely  advised,  dear  Miss  Lennox," 
is  Mrs.  Vivien's  gentle  amendment. 

"  I  warn  !  "  says  Mrs.  Lancaster  stoutly. 

"  Then  I  have  not  misunderstood.  What  is  there 
against  this  sweet-looking  young  girl's  character?  " 

Mrs.  Lancaster  puts  down  her  coffee-cup,  and 
(stares. 

Mrs.  Vivien's  eyes  look  out  keenly  from  half- 
closed  lids. 

"And  isn't  it  against  her  character  that  she 
walks  out  with  a  lieutenant?"  demands  Mrs.  Lan 
caster. 

Miss  Lennox  laughs  her  low,  kindly  laugh.    "  Not 


AUNT  SERENA.  91 

necessarily,  I  should  say.  It  might  be.  It  might 
not  be.  It  would  depend  upon  man}'  things.  The 
kind  of  girl  she  is.  The  kind  of  lieutenant  he  is." 
And  a  quizzical  smile  plays  on  her  lips. 

' '  And  what  do  you  call  her  being  alone  here  in 
Wynburg,  without  friends,  without  the  sign  of  a 
chaperone,  going  to  and  from  the  Conservatory  at 
all  hours,  going  alone,  Heaven  knows  where?  " 

"An  accident,  —  a  misfortune,"  answers  aunt 
Serena  gravely. 

"  And  what  do  3-011  call  her  not  being  received  by 
any  family  of  position?  She  does  not  know  Mrs. 
Raymond,  for  instance." 

"Again  a  misfortune,  perhaps  this  time  to  Mrs. 
Raymond ;"  and  aunt  Serena  smiles  brightly,  and 
thinks,  "  But  that  may  be  an  easy  matter  to 
•remedy." 

Mrs.  Vivien  almost  reads  the  thought.  "Miss 
Pert  is  going  to  be  taken  up  in  good  earnest,  it 
seems." 

"Dear  Miss  Lennox,  you  are  going  to  be  rash. 
You  are  going  to  make  a  mistake,"  she  says,  with 
an  air  of  amiable  solicitude. 

Aunt  Serena  turns  her  soft,  steady  gaze  full  njron 
this  prel  ty  «tnd  much-adorned  little  person. 

"Mrs.  Vivien,  I  am  an  old  woman.  I  must  be 
more  than  thirty  years  older  than  you."  This  was 
an  agreeable  hypothesis  to  Mrs.  Vivien,  whose  years 
were  like  a  box  of  sewing-silks,  —  "  assorted  colors, 
to  suit  all  needs."  "  But  I  have  never  yet  hesitated 
to  do  what  really  seemed  best  for  fear  of  making  a 


92  AUNT  SERENA. 

mistake.  "What  if  one  does  make  a  mistake?  Why 
not  acknowledge  it  to  be  a  mistake,  and,  if  neces 
sary,  withdraw  from  it?" 

"Ah,  you  are  very  heroic,"  chirps  Mrs.  Vivien 
admiringly. 

There  is  a  pause.  Presently  Mrs.  Lancaster, 
whose  heav}T  battalions  of  principles  have  met  with 
a  shock,  rallies. 

"  May  I  ask  you  to  tell  me,  then,  what  things  you 
do  consider  against  a  girl's  character?  " 

Aunt  Serena,  astonished,  hesitates,  then  replies 
very  gently  and  solemnly,  "  Sim  pi}'  an}*  thing 
which  would  actually  detract  from  her  truth  and 
honor,  which  would  stain  the  white  soul  within 
her." 

She  had  a  way  of  talking  above  the  heads  of  her 
hearers,  and  never  knowing  it,  the  dear,  simple  heart.* 
What  had  these  women  to  do  with  the  consideration 
of  abstract  truth  and  honor?      The}*  lived  among 
things. 

"  I  have  had  no  exact  sj'stem  with  my  niece 
Rosamond,"  she  went  on  thoughtfully.  "  Perhaps 
1  have  erred  in  this.  But  I  should  be  grieved  to 
see  her  losing  her  unconsciousness  and  fearlessness. 
She  has  never  learned  to  be  afraid.  I  should  be 
pained  if  she  should  begin  to  think  much  about  evil, 
even  for  the  purpose  of  avoiding  it.  I  have  always 
had  the  idea,  that,  although  I  myself,  as  a  girl,  was 
far  from  a  headstrong,  impetuous,  brilliant  charac 
ter,"  —  she  laughed  softly,  —  "  had  any  one  said  to 
me,  '  Young  girl,  here  is  a  pleasant  garden,  where 


AUNT  SERENA.  93 

you  may  play  ;  and  here  is  a  great,  mysterious  wall, 
with  something  highly  interesting  beyond,  Tvhich 
you  must  not  see  or  think  about,  —  making  daisy- 
chains  would  have  palled  upon  me  at  last ;  and, 
though  I  might  not  have  actually  ventured  on  the 
forbidden  ground,  I  am  very  sure  I  should  at  least 
have  found  a  ladder,  climbed  up,  and  peeped  over 
the  wall  to  my  heart's  content." 

"Ah,  yes,  we  are  all  Eves,"  concedes  Mrs. 
Vivien  gracefully,  pleased  to  be,  for  once,  an  Eve 
in  such  good  company. 

"  Extraordinary  !  "  exclaims  Mrs.  Lancaster. 

"And  so  my  Rosamond  has  never  heard  very 
much  of  the  things  she'  ought  not  to  do,  she  has 
been  so  very  much  occupied  with  the  things  I  have 
chosen  for  her  to  do,"  continued  Miss  Lennox 
placidly.  "  Different  natures,  it  is  true,  require 
different  treatment ;  and  I  am  sure,  Mrs.  Lancaster, 
that  you  do  what  is  wise  for  your  dear  little  girls." 
Molly  and  Daisy  gave  this  beautiful  old  lady,  with 
hair  as  soft  as  a  white  dove's  wing,  a  grateful 
glance.  They  had  heard  much  about  etiquette  and 
propriety,  but  they  had  never  before  been  called 
dear  little  girls. 

"  But,  Miss  Lennox,"  saj's  Mrs.  Lancaster,  routed 
in  English,  and  therefore  resorting  to  her  meagre 
supply  of  French,  "  are  you  not  forgetting  les  con 
venances?" 

"  I  hope  not,"  replies  Miss  Lennox,  with  the  dig 
nity  of  the  whole  Lennox  race  in  her  mien. 

"  And  they  notice  every  thing,  and  they  talk  so 


94  AUNT  SERENA. 

much,"  put 'in  the  little  Vivien.  "One  must  be 
careful." 

"Who  is  —  they?"  inquires  Miss  Lennox,  on 
heights  beyond  grammar.  Then,  suddenly,  — 

"  Mrs.  Lancaster,  3-011  will  not  think  me  rude  and 
presuming,"  with  a  look  that  would  have  disarmed 
a  demon  ;  "  but  this  lonely  Peyton  child  touches  my 
heart.  She  is  thrown  upon  a  hard  world.  My 
Rosamond  is  tenderly  guarded  ;  yet  she  might  have 
been  the  waif,  and  Gertrude  the  pet  lamb.  Tell 
me,  Mrs.  Lancaster,"  and  a  faint,  rose-leaf  flush 
tinged  the  delicate  old  cheek,  "  you  are  an  American 
woman.  Did  you  never,  when  you  were  young, 
walk  with  any  man  except  your  husband?  " 

A  vision  of  flooding  sunset-light,  a  river-road  in 
spring-time,  youth,  hope,  freshness,  the  cool,  earthy 
scent  of  wild  violets,  the  slow  sound  of  sweeping 
oars,  the  innocent,  happy,  boyish,  boastful  talk  of 
her  first  love,  rose  before  Mrs.  Lancaster's  prosaic 
soul.  She  was  sixteen  then,  and  he  went  away  to 
seek  his  fortune :  and  she  married  Mr.  Lancaster, 
who  had  been  rich,  and  kind  to  her ;  and  she  had 
never  regretted  it.  Still,  in  the  strange,  far-off 
picture  there  was  no  harm.  —  no  harm  indeed.  But 
what  a  strange  old  lady. 

"  But,  Miss  Lennox,  we  are  in  Europe,5'  she 
falters. 

Aunt  Serena  looks  at  her  thoughtfully.  Then, 
with  her  winning  yet  stately  grace,  the  little  old 
lady  rises. 

"I  quarrel  with  no  system.     Systems  are  things 


AUNT  SERENA.  95 

for  statesmen.  Even  etiquette  for  young  girls  be 
longs  in  a  way  to  political  econoury ;  and  I  am  a 
simple  old  woman,  and  do  not  understand  that. 
Yet  the  ideal  of  maidenhood, — goodness,  puiity, 
a  loving,  unselfish  heart,  —  that  must  —  must  be  the 
same  among  all  civilized  people,  Avhatever  may  be 
the  superficial  differences  of  training,  and  the  mis 
conceptions.  We  women  are  inclined  to  give  small 
things  too  much  importance,  and  to  under-estimate 
great  things,  perhaps  ;  so  we  may  make  it  hard  and 
confusing  for  }*oung  girls  sometimes  :  and  words  are 
two-edged,  we  all  know." 

"  But  a  lieutenant  is  —  a  lieutenant !  " 
"I  should  never  presume  to  dispute  that,  Mrs. 
Lancaster;"  and  aunt  Serena  smiles  her  wise  and 
harmless  smile,  and  holds  out  her  hand  to  the  two 
ladies. 

"  I  fear  I  have  been  very  prosy,  "  she  says.  "  I 
thank  you  for  your  great  patience.  Good-by,  my 
dears,"  with -her  hand  on  Molly's  and  Daisy's  little 
smooth  heads.  "  Good-by  until  evening." 


96  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  Not  by  appointment  do  we  meet  Delight  and  Joy: 
They  heed  not  our  expectancy ; 
But,  round  some  corner  in  the  streets  of  life, 
They,  on  a  sudden,  clasp  us  with  a  smile." 

GERALD  MASSEY. 

"  T71LORENCE,"  said  Sydney  Bruce,  laying  down 
-L    a  volume  of  Tyndall,  and  holding  his  cigar 
lightly  between  two  fingers,  "I  have  met  my  ideal 
woman." 

Mrs.  Raymond  nearly  dropped  the  delicate  china 
cup  upon  which,  with  rapid,  sketchy  strokes,  she 
was  painting  a  daisy  and  two  fern-leaves.  "  I  can 
not  spend  much  time  on  these  cups,"  she  was  think 
ing.  "  The  dinner-service  is  so  elaborate  with  the 
fine  gold  arabesques  and  the  dark  fond  and  the 
monogram ;  and  it  needs  so  much  time :  but  these 
will  be  pretty  for  afternoon-tea,  and  I  can  turn  them 
off  rapidly  mornings.  Fortunately  this  is  the 
eleventh."  She  held  it  up  to  the  light,  and  looked 
through  it.  Into  her  innocent  porcelain-reveries 
walks  her  brother's  ideal  woman  with  crushing 
eflect. 

"  Sydney,"  she  gasped,  "is  it  true? " 
"Quite  true,"  he  responded  gravely.     "I  saw 
her  at  the  flower-market  this  morning." 


AUNT  SERENA.  97 

Mrs.  Raymond  looked  relieved.  At  lea^t,  it 
could  not  be  either  of  those  insupportable  Arthui 
girls  or  Kitty  Van  Rensalaer.  They  were  never 
known  to  be  out  at  eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  or 
indeed  visible  until  after  the  hairdresser's  solemn 
rites  at  twelve.  Her  supreme  wish  was  to  have  her 
brother  marry ;  but  she  lived  in  deadly  terror  lest  he 
should  be  entangled  in  the  snares  of  some  avari 
cious,  mean-souled  blond  beauty. 

"  Really,  Henry,"  she  would  say  to  her  husband, 
"you  clever  men  are  such  idiots  sometimes.  You 
all  think  a  fresh  complexion  means  purity  of  soul. 
Often  it  means  only  a  good  digestion." 

"Also  an  excellent  thing  in  woman,"  Mr.  Ray 
mond  would  calmly  respond. 

"  Now,  Sydney  causes  me  more  anxiety  than  my 
three  children  together.  There  is  nobody  like  Syd 
ney  ;  but  he'll  certainly  throw  himself  away  on  some 
stupid,  selfish  woman,  who  can  never  appreciate  so 
much  as  his  —  instep  !  And  after  his  experience 
too." 

"  Don't  be  uneasy,  my  dear,"  her  husband  would 
say  consolingly.  "  Sydney  is  nobody's  fool." 

But  she  was  uneasy,  nevertheless.  She  never 
failed  to  know  if  Sydney's  grave  glance  fell  twice 
on  a  new  face,  never  failed  to  take  heart  again  when 
she  observed  one  face  was  as  another  to  him  after 
all.  She  was  a  power  in  society.  Graceful,  fluent, 
admired,  and  courted.  "  Mrs.  Raymond  lilies  soft 
things,"  the  world  said.  "  She  has  always  had 
soft  things,"  and  always  said  it  with  a  shade  of 


98  AUNT  SERENA. 

reproach  if  not  of  malice,  as  if  in  some  mysterious! 
way  Mrs.  Raymond  was  at  fault  for  having  and 
liking  soft  things.  Certainly  she  was  unselfish  iu 
her  desire  to  have  Sydney  take  to  himself  a  wife ; 
for  that  wife,  she  knew,  would  necessarily  monopo 
lize  the  daily  companionship  and  attention  of  tho 
most  devoted  brother  in  the  world.  She  did  not 
even  desire,  after  the  fashion  of  women,  to  choose 
his  wife  for  him.  She  only  wished  him  to  choose 
wisely.  However,  he  manifested  no  matrimonial 
intentions  whatever,  and  was  the  abiding  despair 
of  many  mammas. 

"  Thirty-two  years  old,  Sj'dney,"  she  had  said  to 
him  warningly,  only  the  day  before. 

"And  nothing  done  for  immortality,"  was  his 
indifferent,  unsatisfying  reply. 

Now  she  simply  sits  still,  and  devours  him  with 
hungry  eyes. 

"  Are  you  joking?  Please  do  not  joke,  Sydney." 
Mrs.  Raymond  was  as  matter  of  fact  as  a  perfectly 
graceful  woman  can  well  be.  The  teasing  she  en 
dured  yesterday  from  her  husband  and  brother 
never  enlightened  her  in  the  faintest  degree  as  to 
the  teasing  of  to-day. 

"  I  am  not  joking,  Folly.  I  have  seen  the  love 
liest  woman  in  the  world,"  he  answered  heartily. 

"  O  Sydney,  I  really  believe  you  mean  it  this 
time.  Do  I  know  her?  Is  she  dark,  or  light?  Is 
she  as  tall  as  I?  "What  is  her  name?  "  with  fever 
ish  eagerness. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  know  her.     She  is  —  if  you 


AUNT  SERENA.  99 

refer  to  her  hair  —  light,  extremely  light.  I  Cer 
tainly  never  saw  lighter  hair  on  any  child,"  he  went 
on  slowly. 

Mrs.  Raymond  clasped  her  hands  tightly,  and 
leaned  forward.  She  was  so  impatient.  "  Why  wili 
Sydney  persist  in  being  so  slow?"  she  thought. 
"And  I  do  not  know  her  name,"  he  added  be 
tween  his  whiffs. 

"How  does  she  look?  How  did  you  see  her? 
"Who  was  with  her?  " 

"  She  had  a  suite  with  her,  as  befits  my  queen." 
"  O  Sydney,  dear,  if  you  would  only  not  be  tire 
some!  " 

"  I  am  prepared  to  tell  you  the  whole  story  if"  — 
Mrs.  Raymond  instantly  leaned  back  in  her  chair, 
silent,  and  outwardly  resigned. 

He  continued  in  a  reflective  manner,  — 
"Do  you  know,  I  am  not  sure  that  the  flower- 
market  in  Florence  is,  after  all,  much  more  attrac 
tive  than  this  one?  This  has  not  overhead,  it  is 
true,  Italian  skies ;  it  has  not  the  stately  palaces 
near  by,  and  romantic  associations  everywhere 
around,  the  precious  Lucca  della  Robbia  relief,  the 
famed  little  pulpit  in  the  corner,  the  gleaming  eyes 
of  the  women,  and  the  melody  of  the  soft  Tuscan 
tongue  :  but  then,  here  is  the  strong  old  castle,  the 
sturdy  gray  church-tower,  with  '  the  people,  ah.,  the 
people,  they  that  dwell  up  in  the  steeple'  "  (Mrs. 
Raymond  sighed)  ;  "  and  here  are  the  rows  of  hide 
ously  ugly  peasant  women,  who  after  all,  in  the 
mass,  have  a  strong  element  of  the  picturesque  ;  and 


100  AUNT  SERENA. 

the  sunlight  made  charmingly  mellow  effects  this 
morning,  even  if  we  are  not  in  Tuscany ;  and  hero 
I  saw  my  ideal." 

"  Sydney,  I  always  skip  descriptions.  I  wish 
you  would.  And  if  you  would  not  mind  telling  me 
with  whom  she  was,  Sydne}T?"  Mrs.  Raymond  re 
marked,  with  an  heroic  effort  at  self-control. 

"She  was  accompanied  b}*  six  persons, — two 
beautiful  young  girls  ;  two  little  school-girls  exactly 
of  a  size,  with  long  flaxen  tails  hanging  down  their 
backs,  and  excited,  happy  faces,  as  if  they  were 
doing  something  delightfully  new  and  strange ; 
then,  a  comely  German  woman,  with  shrewd  all- 
seeing  eyes  ;  and  a  stout  maid  with  a  market-basket. 
The  procession  stopped  to  buy  flowers  of  my  par 
ticular  old  woman, — you  know  which  one,  —  and  I 
had  the  honor  of  handing  to  my  lovely  unknown  a 
rosebud  which  she  had  let  fall." 

"  How  old  is  she?  "  asked  Mrs.  Raymond  breath 
lessly.  "  Are  you  going  to  marry  her?  " 

"As  to  that,"  Sydney  said  with  extreme  gravity, 
"  there  might  be  objections  on  the  part  of  the  lady  ; 
which  possibility  you,  as  a  too  indulgent  sister,  are 
always  apt  to  ignore.  She  might  discover  some 
thing  inharmonious,  some  discrepancy,  in  me." 

"Nonsense!"  returned  his  sister  confidently. 
"But  her  age,  Sydney?  " 

"  I  should  say,  —  although  I  am  never  a  fair  judge 
of  that  question,  and  I  imagine  she  looks  old  for 
her  years,  —  about  sixty  three  or  four,"  he  replied 
calmly. 


AUNT  SERENA.  101 

Mrs.  Raymond  shrieked. 

Sydney  lighted  another  cigar. 

"  I  never  saw  a  woman  like  that.  I  never  saw  a 
smile  like  hers.  Hair  like  drifted  snow  in  the  moon 
light.  Eyes  like  stars,  —  yes,  soft  brown  stars,"  he 
repeated. 

Mrs.  Raymond  laughed.  "  If  it's  no  worse  ftan 
that "  —  and  she  scrutinized  her  daisy. 

Her  brother  read  on  steadily  for  a  half  an  hour, 
then  rising,  and  laying  down  his  book,  remarked, 
"  Florence,  you  might  find  out  who  these  people  are. 
They  belong  to  a  very  different  world  from  that  of 
most  of  your  friends  here." 

"Wtry,  of  course  I  can  find  out  any  thing  and 
every  thing  you  wish,  Sydney.  You  don't  like  Mrs. 
Vivien,  but  you  must  admit  that  she  is  a  very  useful 
person." 

' '  As  an  agent  of  the  secret  police  she  would  be 
invaluable :  otherwise  I  fail  to  perceive  her  useful 
ness.  The  ferret  is  not  my  favorite  animal." 

"  But  she  is  clever,  my  dear." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"•Far  cleverer  than  you  imagine.  Now,  I  shall 
simply  say  to  her,  '  Who  was  the  lady  to  whom  my 
brother  handed  a  rose  which  she  had  dropped  at  the 
flower-market  this  morning?'  And  Mrs.  Vivien, 
without  one  moment's  hesitation,  will  tell  me  the 
names  of  the  lady  and  all  her  companions,  their 
claims  on  Wynburg  society,  their  toilets,  their  ages, 
even  the  color  of  the  rose." 

' '  I  beg  you  will  not  resort  to  such  extreme  meas- 


102  AUNT  SERENA. 

nres  on  my  account,"  he  returned  dryly.  "I  dc 
not  like  the  Vivien,  as  you  say ;  and  these  ladies 
you  will  undoubtedly  meet  without  her  unpleasant 
interposition." 

"  But  through  the  Vivien  I  can  reach  them  quick 
est.  I  don't  like  her  either,  for  that  matter.  Why 
not  use  her,  if  I  can  please  you?  " 

Sydney  smiled.  "  Little  Jesuit,  the  end  does  not 
always  justify  the  means.  How  do  you  pay  your 
detective  ? ' ' 

Mrs.  Raymond  colored,  and  looked  almost  vexed. 
Sydney  really  had  such  strange  notions.  Then  she 
said  brightl}',  "  Oh,  I  ask  her  here  when  1  have 
what  I  call  my  'menagerie  party,'  —  an  unpleasant 
but  inevitable  gathering  of  all  the  Americans  once 
a  year ;  and  I  am  a  grain  more  cordial  to  her  than 
to  her  fiiend  Mrs.  Lancaster  when  I  meet  them  at 
that  stupid  Dramatic  Club  or  in  a  shop.  She  is 
then  quite  satisfied,  especially  as  she  entertains  the 
sweet  hope  that  I  shall  some  day  invite  her  to  a 
small  dinner  with  Mrs.  Van  Rensalaer  and  Lady 
Manners." 

At  length  he  said  thoughtfully,  "  What  an  excel 
lent  title  for  a  novel  '  Door-mats  of  Power '  would 
be!" 

"  I  think  so  too,"  remarked  Mrs.  Raymond  amia 
bly.  Why  do  you  not  write  one?  Now,  Sydney 
dear,  don't  be  superior.  You  call  it  worldly ;  but  it's 
life,  you  know.  Can  I  alter  it?  Let  us  take  things 
as  they  are ;  and,  first  of  all,  let  us  find  your  nice 
people.  I  would  use  Mrs.  Vivien  exactly  as  I 


AUNT  SERENA.  103 

would  use  my  maid,  —  sending  her  on  any  errand 
whatever. ' ' 

"Do  not  employ  her  on  mine,  if  you  please, 
Florence,"  he  said  with  a  slight  coldness.  He  loved 
his  sister  tenderly,  but  he  was  apt  to  feel  a  vague 
dissatisfaction  now  and  then  after  a  chat  with  her. 
He  felt  this  now.  "  How  unscrupulous  good  women 
seem  sometimes !  "  he  thought.  He  looked  at  her 
light,  graceful  figure,  clear,  smiling  eyes,  and  all 
her  dainty  and  elegant  appointments,  then  went 
towards  her,  and  laid  his  hand  affectionately  on  her 
shoulder.  "  Don't  use  the  Vivien  woman  in  this 
matter,  Folly,"  he  repeated  in  his  gentle  yet  mas 
terful  way.  She  laid  her  cheek  against  his  hand 
with  a  pretty,  caressing  movement,  then  looked  up, 
smiling  and  undisturbed. 

"As  you  please,  my  dear." 

She  was  still  so  like  the  slight  little  being  in  short, 
diaphanous  draperies  and  a  huge,  rose-colored  sash, 
whom  he,  as  a  school-boy,  had  swung  up  to  his  strong 
shoulder,  proud  of  his  burden  and  himself.  She  was 
still  as  clear-eyed  and  happy,  as  gracious  and  amia 
ble,  as  simple  and  downright,  in  her  relations  with 
the  few  she  cared  for,  as  then  ;  still  as  elusive  when 
called  upon  to  display  any  feeling  stronger  than  9 
gentle,  affectionate  regard.  Yet  she  was  loya"  to 
the  core  of  her  heart,  and  this  her  brother  knew : 
and  kindly  and  agreeable,  and  this  the  world  knew. 

"I  am  hard  and  exacting,"  he  thought,  blaming 
himself  as  usual.  "  Why  demand  of  you  what  you 
have  not  to  give,  you  dear  and  gracious  being  f 


104  AUNT  SERENA. 

You  simply  did  not  understand ;  for  you  could 
not,  sweet." 

"Good  little  sister!"  he  said  kindly,  and  went 
out. 

Mrs.  Raymond  placidly  painted  on. 

"Dear  Sydney!"  she  thought,  "he  will  always 
be  fanciful.  Now,  why  should  I  not  ask  a  plain 
question  of  Mrs.  Vivien?  However,''  and  she 
smiled  with  her  little  shrewd  air  of  worldly  wisdom, 
"it  is  immaterial.  She  will  tell  me,  undoubtedly, 
all  she  knows  without  asking.  She  always  unbur 
dens  her  mind  freely.  I  will  not  ask  a  question ; 
but  she  shall  help  me  find  Sydney's  people,  never 
theless." 

At  this  moment  a  servant  entered  with  a  card. 

"Who  is  it,  Elise?"  Mrs.  Raymond  said  care 
lessly. 

"  Mrs.  Vivien,  madame." 

"Ah!  Have  her  shown  into  the  salon,  and  — 
wait,  Elise.  Did  Mr.  Sydney  go  out?  " 

"  No,  madame :  he  is  in  the  library." 

"  Say  to  him  that  Mrs.  Vivien  is  with  me ;  "  and 
Mrs.  Raymond,  with  a  perfectly  adjusted  smile  of 
welcome,  went  in  to  greet  her  guest. 


AUNT  SERENA.  105 


CHAPTER  ViII. 

'•'  Au  acquaintance  grilled,  scored,  devilled,  and  served  with 
mustard  and  cayenne  pepper,  excites  the  appetite;  whereas  a 
slice  of  cold  friend  with  currant  jelly  is  but  a  sickly,  unrelish- 
ing  meat."  —  THACKERAY. 

IN  the  large  salon  where  Mrs.  Raymond  received 
only  her  most  formal  visitors,  Mrs.  Vivien's 
ingratiating  purr,  encouraged  from  time  to  time  by 
an  affable  comment  from  her  hostess,  recounted 
the  news  of  the  day  in  Wynburg  up  to  eleven  A.M. 
With  marvellous  skill,  obtained  by  strong  natural 
ability  increased  by  years  of  practice,  Mrs.  Vivien 
lightly  touched  upon  topics  which  she  hoped  would 
interest  her  listener.  Bird-like  she  darted  to  and 
fro,  airily  whirling  and  fluttering  away  from  her 
position  the  instant  she  detected  a  shade  of  dis 
approval  on  the  calm  face  opposite.  Peculiar  sub 
jects,  which  she  broadly  expounded  to  Mrs.  Lancas 
ter  with  satisfaction  to  herself  and  her  hearer,  were, 
in  Mrs.  Raymond's  refined  presence,  toned  down  to 
decency,  playfully  waived,  or  wholly  ignored.  Mrs. 
Vivien,  communing  with  her  own  soul,  was  wont  to 
gnash  her  teeth  in  impotent  rage  because  she  never 
fairly  reached  this  favored  child  of  fortune.  Amia 
ble,  unruffled,  gracious,  Mrs.  Raymond  deigned  to 
be  amused,  rarely  committed  herself  by  giving  a 


106  AUNT  SERENA. 

decided  opinion,  grew  perceptibly  colder  if  the  con 
versation  ascumed  a  color  too  vivid  for  her  taste, 
was  gently  obtuse  to  Mrs.  Vivien's  persistent 
efforts  towards  intimacy,  and,  after  an  acquaintance 
of  two  years,  remained  neither  more  nor  less  ap 
proachable  than  she  had  been  the  day  they  met. 
Mrs.  Vivien  perfectly  appreciated  this,  and  awaited 
her  hour  of  reckoning. 

"  I'll  find  the  weak  spot  in  her  armor  yet,"  and 
she  closed  her  thin  lips  firmly  over  her  small  milk- 
white  teeth.  She  rarely  did  this  in  public.  It  was 
a  comfort  reserved  for  her  dressing-room,  like  her 
peignoir  and  old  slippers.  She  knew  that  slightly 
parted  lips  look  innocent  and  3*oung,  and  that  com 
pressing  them  draws  hard  lines  far  too  early,  de 
stroying  the  witchery  of  dimple  and  curve,  and 
making  a  woman  age  sadly. 

She  had  Albani  Cupids  and  Correggio's  floating 
angel-heads  painted  on  the  walls  of  her  pretty 
boudoir,  and  no  doubt  her  studies  of  such  artless- 
ness  were  not  without  effect  in  producing  her  dewy, 
infantine  smiles.  There  was  much  that  she  knew, 
this  wise  and  foolish  woman.  She  made  use  of 
many  subtle  arts  and  attenuated  theories  in  the 
process  of  beautifying  her  not  unpleasing  person. 
But  nevertheless,  some  simple  and  useful  facts 
escaped  her.  She  did  not  know,  for  instance,  that 
a  young  heart  holds  the  essence  of  youth  in  a 
woman's  face  in  defiance  of  wrinkles  and  gray  hair. 
She  did  not  know  that  the  world's  imprint  on  her 
own  spirit  —  dry  and  barren  and  common  as  a  pub- 


AUNT  SERENA.  107 

lie  thoroughfare  in  midsummer  —  must  sooner  or 
later  work  itself  out  into  her  face,  despite  her  cher 
ubic  studies. 

In  some  lights  indeed,  to  some  ej7es,  this  process 
had  already  taken  place.  Sydney  Bruce,  for  one, 
found  no  charm  in  her  practised  smile,  was  never 
flattered  by  her  gentle,  appealing  air,  and  invariably 
detected  a  malignant  and  sordid  element  in  what  to 
most  people  was  the  innocuous  prattle  of  a  pretty 
woman.  Moreover,  he  had  once  seen  in  her  face 
a  fleeting  resemblance  to  a  person  whom  he  had 
known,  and  upon  whom  he  never  wished  to  look 
again.  This  trifling  discovery  did  not  increase  Mrs. 
Vivien's  fascinations  in  his  estimation. 

To-day  her  prattle,  harmless  or  otherwise,  ran 
on  in  its  happiest  vein.  She  began  with  the  court- 
bulletin,  announcing  the  exact  condition  of  the  pale, 
stately  queen's  health.  She  reported  that  the  king 
is  about  to  pass  a  few  days  in  a  favorite  villa.  She 
alluded  delicately  to  an  impending  engagement  be 
tween  two  young  people  belonging  to  distinguished 
German  families,  in  which  Mrs.  Raymond  had  the 
entree,  and  she  had  not,  and  in  regard  to  which 
Mrs.  Raymond,  who  gave  no  hint  of  previous  in 
formation,  was  far  better  informed  than  she.  She 
rolled  the  sweet  morsel  of  a  church  quarrel  and  scan 
dal  under  her  tongue.  She  regretted  with  voluble 
charit}"  that  three  little  American  girls  were  guilty 
of  laughing  in  their  loge  at  the  theatre  last  evening. 

Mrs.  Raymond,  up  to  this  point  merely  interpos 
ing  conventional  ahs  and  indeeds,  here  remarked,  — • 


108  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"  Why,  I  thought  everybody  laughed  at  the  thea 
tre.  I  always  do.  That's  why  I  go.  I  do  not  vko 
tragedies." 

"You  can  do  any  thing  you  please,  dear  Mrs. 
Raymond,"  was  the  suave  answer  ;  "  and  I  wish  I 
could  tell  37ou  that  it's  all  owing  to  your  money," 
was  the  spiteful  mental  comment.  "  But  you  know 
the  Germans  do  not  like  it." 

"  Oh,  the  poor  Germans,"  laughed  Mrs.  Raymond. 
"  How  we  foreigners  accuse  them  of  all  manner  of 
unrighteousness  !  For  my  part,  I  am  sure  that  if  we 
are  not  too  severe  upon  peccadilloes  in  our  ranks, 
they  will  not  be.  I  have  always  found  them  well- 
disposed  and  kindly.  Indeed,  I  am  inclined  to  be 
grateful  to  them  for  putting  up  with  a  deal  of  non 
sense  from  us  intruders.  And  surely,  Mrs.  Vivien, 
we  do  not  need  to  depend  upon  them  when  we  wish 
to  be  enlivened  by  a  racy  bit  of  gossip." 

"You  are  always  so  vivacious,"  returned  Mrs. 
Vivien  blandly.  "  How  I  wish  I  had  your  life  and 
spirit !  But  as  to  these  little  Norrises  ' '  — 

"  They  are  very  nice  girls,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond 
with  decision.  "Pretty,  well-bred,  always  good 
tone." 

' '  But  it  has  been  most  unpleasantly  commented 
upon,  their  laughing  so  much.  I  feel  so  sorry  for 
their  mother.' ' 

"  Quarter  to  children  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Raymond 
good-humoredly.  "  Let  us  tear  to  tatters  the  repu 
tations  of  our  peers,  but  not  slaughter  the  innocents. 
And  do  not  pity  Mrs.  Norris,  I  beg,"  she  added  with 


AUNT  SERENA.  109 

a  peculiar  smile.  "  She  is  not  easily  affected  by 
trifles.  And  if  her  happy-hearted  girls  found  some 
thing  amusing  in  the  play  or  even  in  the  audience 
last  night,  I  am  sure  they  did  not  laugh  loud.  I  am 
sure  they  disturbed  no  one.  They  are  always  fine,  — 
the  littik  Norrisos." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,"  chimed  in  her  visitor's 
dulcet  tones.  "I  said  at  once,  when  I  was  told  of 
it,  that  nothing  is  more  pleasing  to  me  than  the  light- 
heartedness  of  extreme  youth.  But  the  world  is  so 
censorious.  Every  thing  is  so  easily  misunderstood. 
Even  a  little  innocent  laughter  people  like  to  call 
coquetry  and  boldness.  I  am  so  glad,  however,  that 
you  think  there  was  nothing  in  it.  I  was  sure  you 
would  look  at  the  matter  as  I  do,"  coos  the  gentle 
voice.  "And  how  is  Mr.  Bruce?"  she  inquired 
sweetly.  "We  see  so  little  of  him.  He  is  really 
quite  a  recluse." 

"  My  brother  is  fond  of  pottering  among  his 
books,"  returned  Mrs.  Raymond  indifferently. 
"And  then  he  came  only  to  be  with  us.  He  cares 
little  for  society  in  general." 

"I  presume  he  will  make  a  long  visit."  Mrs. 
Vivien  is  aware  this  is  an  impolitic  remark,  but  ven 
tures  it  notwithstanding.  In  her  abstruse  calcula 
tions  the  length  of  Sydney  Bruce's  stay  in  Wyiiburg 
is  an  important  factor. . 

His  sister  stared  slightly,  and  said  coldly,  "I 
really  do  not  know.  I  rarely  question  him  as  to  his 
plans."  Then,  more  genially,  "  Of  course  we  shall 
keep  him  as  long  as  possible.  It  is  a  pure  delight 


110  AUNT  SERENA. 

to  Mr.  Raymond  and  me  to  have  him  here,  and  the 
children  adore  him.  He  has  half  promised  a  friend 
in  England  to  go  over  foi  some  shooting,  but  I 
think  he  will  come  back." 

"She's  welcome  to  that  bit  of  information," 
thought  the  bland  hostess.  "It's  the  first  crumb  of 
comfort  she  has  been  able  to  gather  up." 

"  Ah,  how  delightful  for  you  !  Mr.  Bruce,  I  must 
confess,  is  quite  a  hero  to  many  of  us;"  and  for 
once  she  spoke  the  truth.  If  there  was  a  being  for 
whom  she  entertained  a  feeling  akin  to  genuine  admi 
ration,  it  was  a  rich  young  man.  She  was  also  not 
unsusceptible  to  graces  of  person  and  manner,  and 
a  strong  social  position  was  to  her  a  crowning  grace. 
Sydney  Bruce  was  the  careless  but  indisputable  pos 
sessor  of  so  many  of  these  blessings,  that  she  added 
to  them  the  debatable  boon  of  her  deep  interest. 

"  I  was  told  they  used  to  call  him  the  Cid  years 
ago  at  college,  he  was  such  a  hero."  Mrs.  Ray 
mond  looked  at  her  oddly.  ' '  How  did  you  ever 
know  that,  I  wonder?  Do  you  happen  to  know 
when  he  cut  his  first  tooth?"  she  was  thinking  ;  and 
Mrs.  Vivien's  instinct  warned  her  to  drop  this  in 
teresting  theme. 

"  Speaking  of  heroes  reminds  me  of  Miss  Gray  — 
clever  person  —  pity  she  is  so  plain.  They  say  she 
is  writing  three  novels  at  once,  and  does  not  mind  in 
the  least  how  many  people  and  how  much  noise  and 
confusion  there  are  in  her  study." 

"That  is  clever,"  and  Mrs.  Raymond  laughed 
heartilj*.  "  But,  pray,  has  any  one  read  her  MSS.? 


AUNT  SERENA.  Ill 

Or  does  the  feat  consist  simply  in  writing  under 
such  circumstances  without  reference  to  finding  a 
publisher?  How  does  she  keep  her  heroes  from 
walking  into  the  wrong  book  and  making  love  to 
the  wrong  heroine?  " 

"  But  that  would  be  very  true  to  nature,"  remarked 
Mrs.  Vivien  demurely.  "Men  so  often  make  love 
to  the  wrong  heroine.  By  the  way,  we  are  watching 
a  romance  at  Frau  Rudolph's  just  now.  You  know 
Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  ?  He  and  Miss  Peyton  are 
having  quite  an  affair,  I  am  sorry  to  say." 

"Miss  Peyton?  She's  the  pale,  pretty  girl  with 
the  exquisite  voice,  is  she  not?  I  heard  her  sing 
at  Lady  Manners's  charity  concert.  I  thought  her 
charming." 

"  Yes,  so  she  is,  most  charming,"  enthusiastically. 
"  That  is  why  we  are  especially  sorry  to  see  her 
going  on  in  this  way.  Flowers,  and  evening  ram 
bles,  and  heaven  knows  what." 

"I  think  I'll  ask  Miss  Peyton  here,"  said  Mrs. 
Raymond,  fixing  her  eyes  with  a  gentle,  abstracted 
air  upon  the  long  trumpet  of  the  Fra  Angelico  angel 
in  the  corner  of  her  room. 

Mrs.  Vivien's  lips  closed,  almost  with  a  snap. 
Recovering  herself,  — 

"I  have  always  liked  her.  I  real!}-  never  know 
why  most  people  do  not.  She  is  more  to  be  pitied 
than  blamed,"  she  adds,  with  inconceivable  malice 
and  her  meekest  voice. 

"I  shall  certainly  ask  Miss  Peyton  here,"  said 
Mrs.  Raymond,  even  more  gently  than  before,  still 


112  AUNT  SERENA. 

looking  upward  to  the  calm  eyes  of  the  angel,  "next 
Wednesday  —  with  Lady  Manners  —  to  dine." 

Baffled  and  venomous,  Mrs.  Vivien  summoned  all 
her  art  to  make  a  gallant  retreat.  The  dewy,  cherub 
smile  hovers  over  her  lips  as  she  murmurs,  "That 
is  really  quite  too  sweet  of  you,  dear  Mrs.  Raymond. 
Alwaj's  so  benevolent !  The  poor  girl  ought  to  be 
grateful,  indeed,  and  just  at  this  time  too !  I  do 
so  envy  you  your  charming  home.  It  gives  you 
such  freedom  in  the  matter  of  entertaining.  Now, 
it  is  very  different  in  a  pension,  believe  me.  There 
it  doesn't  do  to  be  original,  eccentric  shall  I  say? 
I  often  write  to  Mr.  Vivien  that  he  realty  must  come 
over  and  take  a  house  here.  The  climate  agrees  so 
well  with  m}-  poor  chest,"  she  explained,  with  a  look 
of  pious  gratitude  for  Heaven's  mercy  in  leading  her 
to  this  salubrious  spot,  "  but  he  never  feels  as  if  he 
could  leave  his  business.  Perhaps  he  will  some 
time,"  she  concludes,  with  a  bright  hopefulness 
delightful  to  observe. 

Mrs.  Raymond  honestly  admired  her.  "  This  is 
really  well  played.  Extraordinary  vivacity  and 
grace,"  she  thought,  "since  Mr.  Vivien  and  Mrs. 
Vivien's  weak  chest  are  generally  conceded  myths, 
—  companion  myths,  one  never  appearing  in  her 
conversation  without  the  other." 

Taking  refuge  in  a  harmless  generality  she  re 
sponded,  "Our  business  men  ought  to  allow  them 
selves  more  rest.  Americans  are  apt  to  be  slaves 
to  their  work,  and  wear  themselves  out." 

"That's  what  I  am  always  telling  Mr.  Vivien," 


AUNT  SERENA.  113 

purrs  the  aitless  voice.  ""When  he  comes  he  Wifl. 
want  a  home.  He  is  veiy  fond  of  his  home." 

"  Good  heavens  !  "  was  Mrs.  Raymond's  inward 
ejaculation.  "  What  effrontery  !  " 

' '  He  would  never  put  up  with  the  inconveniences 
of  pension-life,  though  to  be  sure  we  are  veiy  com 
fortable  at  Frau  Rudolph's.  We  have  some  new 
people,  by  the  way  ;  but  perhaps  you  knew  it?  ' 

"  I  know  very  little  of  strangers,  except  what 
you  are  kind  enough  to  tell  me,"  was  the  equivocal 
answer. 

"  I  merely  thought  you  might  know  them,  because 
they  know  friends  of  }7ours.  It's  a  Miss  Lennox 
and  her  niece.  They  have  very  good  connections, 
it  seems.  Sedate  old  Northbrooke  families,  — 
Weatherstone  —  Wellesley  —  Lennox,  —  you  know. 
The  niece  is  engaged  to  her  cousin,  young  Thornton 
of  Fairport.  Family  arrangement,  they  say.  Miss 
Lennox  is  rather  peculiar.  Nice  person,  no  doubt, 
but  free  in  her  ideas,  I  should  say.  It  always  fright 
ens  poor  little  me  when  women  begin  to  advance 
theories  :  I  tremble  lest  they  should  go  too  far,  and 
become  unwomanly.  Mr.  Vivien  has  a  horror  of  the 
least  approach  to  emancipation.  He  thinks  it  so 
coarse.  She  is  extremely  enterprising  for  her  years, 
I  must  admit.  She  goes  everywhere  with  her  niece. 
They  actually  started  off  to  market  this  morning." 

' '  Ah  ?  It  will  be  pleasant  for  you  to  have  such 
agreeable  people  at  Frau  Rudolph's,"  Mrs.  Ray 
mond  responded  with  extreme  urbanity. 

"  Delightful.     Especially  as  I  know  who  they  are. 


114  AUNT  SERENA. 

One  cannot  be  too  careful  over  here,  so  many  re 
fined-looking  women  are  mere  adventuresses.  But 
these  are  of  our  own  kind."  She  furtively  watched 
the  effect  of  this  audacious  master-stroke,  but  her 
hostess  remained  civilly  imperturbable.  "  My 
cousin  Eleanor  has  written  all  about  them,"  she 
added  softly. 

"  Eleanor  !  "  There  was  a  startled  expression  in 
Mrs.  Raymond's  eyes. 

"  Check  !  "  thought  the  smiling  little  woman  before 
her.  "  You  have  given  me  several  thrusts  this 
morning,  my  gracious  lady.  Take  this  now :  there 
is  more  to  come." 

"  Eleanor  who?  What  Eleanor?  "  trembled  on 
Florence  Raj'mond's  tongue,  but  this  at  least  she 
would  not  inquire  of  Mrs.  Vivien.  "  The  name  may 
be  a  mere  coincidence.  Yet  her  trainante  voice  and 
drooping  lids  have  always  seemed  faintly  familiar. 
Cousins,  are  they?  Well,  it  can  do  no  harm,  only 
be  disagreeable.  I  am  foolish  to  attach  any  impor 
tance  to  it.  But  the  very  name  disturbs  me.  As  if 
my  strong  brother  could  be  reached  again  by  that 
false  creature.  And  yet  men  are  unaccountable." 

All  this  flashed  through  her  mind.  With  scarcely 
a  perceptible  pause,  she  replied  in  her  most  charm 
ing  manner,  — 

"  I  shall  be  pleased  to  know  them." 

"I  am  sure  you  will,"  purred  the  pretty  cat. 
"  But,  dear  Mrs.  Raymond,  I  must  realty  run  away, 
I  have  stolen  such  an  unconscionable  amount  of  your 
time  !  Indeed,  I  always  forget  how  the  moments  are 


AUNT  SERENA.  115 

flying,  when  I  sit  here  with  you.  But,  as  I  often  say 
to  dear  Lady  Manners,  '  What  would  life  be,  with 
out  a  friendly  chat  now  and  then  ? '  Good-morning, 
dear  Mrs.  Raymond.  I  have  enjoyed  you  so  very 
much,"  and  she  glided  softly  away. 


116  AUNT  SEE  EN  A. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  Love,  we  are  told,  comes  like  the  wind,  from  heaven, 
Not  at  our  bidding,  but  its  own  free  will." 

BULWER. 

TTTHILE  Mrs.  Vivien  was  displaying  her  motley 
V  V  hautes  nouveautes  of  gossip,  across  the  hall 
in  the  dim,  rich,  silent  library,  Sj'dney  Bruce  sat  in 
a  profound  reverie.  He  scarcely  lifted  his  eyes  from 
the  Persian  rug  at  his  feet  when  Elise,  with  the 
noiseless  tread  of  a  perfect  servant,  brought  him  his 
sister's  warning.  As  the  name  of  the  visitor  was 
announced,  an  almost  imperceptible  look  of  aversion 
crept  into  his  quiet  e}Tes,  then  vanished.  It  was  as 
if  an  ugly  snake  had  glided  into  a  dream  of  paradise 
and  disappeared,  leaving  no  trace  or  remembrance. 
The  door  softly  closed.  He  was  again  alone  with 
his  thoughts.  Strange  thoughts  they  were,  wild  and 
ardent  as  any  bo}*'s,  behind  the  grave  composure  of 
his  face  and  his  steady  eyes. 

"  She  would  sit  near  me  in  the  old  library  at  home, 
close  to  me,"  and  his  heart  gave  a  mighty  bound 
of  gladness  ;  ' '  her  hand  on  my  shoulder,  —  she  has 
such  dainty  bands ;  her  pure  cheek  against  mine ; 
and  I  should  turn,  and  see  my  book  no  more,  but 
only  her  sweet,  primrose  face,  and  the  happy  light 
in  her  eyes.  And  I  would  kiss  them,  the  great 


AUNT  SERENA.  117 

innocent  eyes!  Thank  God  there  are  still  such 
eyes  in  the  world  and  such  women !  And  some 
times  she  would  be  in  the  high  carved  chair  by  the 
window,  her  head  thrown  back,  her  hands  softly 
folded.  And  the  crimson  and  violet  lights  from  IJie 
painted  panes  would  fall  so  lovingly  upon  her,  that 
I  should  be  jealous  of  even  old  Chaucer  and  Shakes 
peare  for  daring  to  send  down  tlibir  glories  to  gleam 
in  her  hair,  lie  on  her  breast,  and  tremble  over  her 
lovely  throat.  My  child !  My  little  love  !  How ' 
she  came  along  towards  me  this  morning  in  the  full 
sunlight,  proud  and  pure  and  radiant ;  and  I  knew 
her  and  loved  her.  And  then  she  turned  and  spoke, 
and  smiled  in  the  face  of  the  white-haired  old  lady, 
and  laid  her  hands  gently  on  the  other's  wrists  with 
an  exquisite  deference,  the  unconscious  grace  of  a 
child,  and  a  great,  sweet  trust  shining  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Will  she  ever  come  to  me  with  the  trust  in  her 
eyes,  and  lay  her  hands  in  mine?  Loving,  loj'al, 
strong  heart !  Proud,  fearless,  true  heart !  I  have 
been  blind  enough  in  my  life,  am  blind  still  no 
doubt,  but  not  so  blind  that  I  fail  to  recognize  you, 
coming  towards  me  in  the  sunlight,  coming  on, 
straight  into  my  life,  never  again  to  leave  it !  For 
should  I  never  see  you  again,  or  should  you  not 
listen  to  me,  still  I  know  you,  dear.  I  know  you 
for  what  you  are.  Whether  I  gain  or  lose  you, 
you  are  still  the  one  woman  in  the  world  for  me. 
You  are  she  for  whom  I  have  always  been  seeking 
ever  since  my  boyish  heart  felt  its  first  strange 


118  AUNT  SERENA. 

yearning  for  something  higher  and  better  than  it 
had  known,  —  for  a  woman's  love. 

"  I  have  known  so  many  women,  but  not  one  like 
you.  I  have  grown  old  before  my  time ;  but  the 
sight  of  you  shuts  out  all  the  dull  years,  and  fills 
me  with  the  hopes  of  strong,  sweet  youth.  I  have 
wasted  so  much  on  others.  Can  you  forgive  me, 
sweet?  I  should  have  known  you  were  coming.  1 
should  have  waited.  I  was  blind.  Yet  not  to  one  of 
them  have  I  offered  what  I  la}'  before  the  shrine  of 
your  white  soul ;  and  if  there  has  been  foil}",  weak 
ness,  madness,  in  my  past,  there  has  been  no  dis 
honor.  At  least,  I  can  meet  }'our  calm  eyes.  And 
I  can  love  you  with  a  man's  strong  love,  and  only 
you,  until  I  die.  To-day  I  see  you  in  the  glory  of 
your  girlhood.  "With  closed  eyes,  I  see  you,  too, 
fifty  years  from  now.  You  will  not  think  it  a 
wrong  to  your  beauty  and  your  youth  that  this  pic 
ture  comes  stealing  into  my  heart?  A  little,  quaint 
old  lady,  frail  and  bowed,  and  with  a  white  cap 
round  the  gentle  face.  The  flower-like  head  has 
lost  its  loftiness,  the  wealth  of  hair  its  radiance,  the 
warm  lips  their  soft,  quivering  charm.  But  still, 
in  the  dimmed  eyes  are  the  lovelight  and  the  truth ; 
and  still  I  love  you,  dear.  Let  the  change  come, 
since  come  it  must.  I  do  not  fear  it  with  you  near 
me.  I  shall  love  you,  not  with  this  fast-beating 
heart  and  intensity  of  longing,  since  these,  too,  must 
suffer  a  change,  like  your  fairness,  yet  with  the 
same  reverence  as  now,  with  the  honor  and  high 
thoughts  which  your  pure  presence  inspires,  and 


AUNT  SERENA.  119 

with  the  tenderness  that  deepens  and  strengthens 
with  years.  I  promise  this. 

' '  Ah  !  I  thought  the  last  of  this  race  of  women 
died  when  my  mother  died,  —  the  grand,  sweet 
women,  lofty  in  life  and  love,  yet  with  the  unsullied 
child-soul  always  looking  out  through  their  beauti 
ful  eyes.  And  now  I  have  found  you,  my  child, 
my  love,  my  wife  ;  and  I  will  never  let  you  go  again 
through  all  the  years  to  come. 

"  To  think  I  did  not  know  you  quite  !  The  grace, 
the  morning  freshness,  yes ;  but  where  I  had  met 
you,  I  could  not  tell.  When  I  saw  you,  and  it  was 
only  in  June,  I  did  not  know  you  were  so  tall  and 
stately,  dear.  I  thought  you  a  little  girl,"  and  he 
smiled  gentry.  "  And  to-day  you  turned  your  head, 
and  it  drooped  low  over  the  flowers  ;  and  I  suddenly 
saw  your  profile,  clear-cut  as  a  cameo,  with  the 
green  leaves  behind  you.  And  all  at  once  you 
seemed  to  be  sobbing,  and  clinging  to  your  horse  in 
the  heart  of  the  old  New-England  wood  again.  I 
wanted  to  take  you  in  my  arms  and  comfort  you 
then.  I  want  to  comfort  you  in  the  future  for  every 
sorrow  that  may  bow  your  dear  head.  I  will,  if  I 
may.  I  will  yet,  if  I  may  ;  "  and  a  flood  of  rever 
ence  and  protecting  tenderness  swept  through  his 
heart  like  a  torrent. 

"  I  love  you,"  said  this  grave  man  with  the  se  f- 
contained  face,  and  the  wild,  delicious  fancies  run 
ning  riot  through  his  brain.  "Am  I  too  old  for 
you?"  The  thought  was  keen  pain  to  him. 
"  Ah,  I  cannot  lose  you,  now  that  I  know  you  !  J 


120  AUNT  SERENA. 

love  all  your  little  ways.  How  eloquent  they  are ! 
and  your  hands,  }'our  light,  impulsive  movements, 
your  face  with  its  tremulous,  sensitive  changes. 
Was  ever  a  face  before  playful  and  demure,  loving, 
wistful,  flashing  with  merriment,  eager,  calm  as  a 
statue,  all  in  one  fleeting  moment? 

"And  you  did  not  know  me,  did  not  see  me? 
Not  you,  my  pure,  proud  lily  !  What  matters  it  to 
you  what  stranger  watches  when  you  pass  by  in 
your  girlish  state  !  Little  do  you  care  for  admiration 
in  men's  eyes.  You  hardly  know  that  men  have 
eyes  !  "  and  a  great  triumph  shone  in  his  own. 

At  last.  At  last.  He  did  not  ask  himself  how 
he  knew,  how  he  was  so  sure  of  this  simple  litt'e 
girl,  this  stranger.  His  faith  in  her,  his  instinctive 
comprehension  of  her,  occasioned  him  no  self-exami 
nation. 

"  She  is  untainted  by  the  world.  She  scon/s  a 
lie,  as  an  honest  man  does,  and  as  few  women  I 
have  known  do,  if  they  can  sugar-coat  it  sufficiently 
to  render  it  palatable  to  what  they  call  their  con 
sciences.  She  is  too  fearless  ever  to  be  false.  Rhe 
cannot  use  mean  tools  to  accomplish  her  purposes. 
She  is  upright,  downright.  She  is  all  graciousness, 
with  a  quaint,  old-fashioned  dignity  she  has  caught 
from  that  most  charming  gentlewoman  with  net. 
In  her  clear  eyes  no  love-thought  has  ever  dwelt ; 
but  one  day  her  strong,  sweet,  ardent  spirit  will 
give  itself  wholly  —  and  to  me  —  to  me  !  "  his  heart 
cried  passionately.  "  I  must  win  her  for  my  wife  — 
mine  —  this  girl  with  the  eyes  of  a  child  and  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  121 

heart  of  a  woman,  this  brave,  beautiful,  tender 
soul." 

It  is  evident  that  Mr.  Sydney  Bruce  was  in  love, 
veiy  much  in  love. 

To  him  the  old  market  had  suddenly  grown  as 
dazzling  as  the  golden  streets  of  the  New  Jerusa 
lem.  The  little  procession,  winding  its  way  in  and 
out  among  butter- women,  baskets  of  eggs,  mounds 
of  vegetables,  the  late  roses  and  the  noisy  chatter 
of  the  peasant-throng,  was  as  glorious  in  his  eyes 
as  a  vision  of  sweets-singing  seraphs,  sweeping 
over  shining  mountain-tops.  Even  Babele,  the 
portly  maid,  harmonious  and  etherialized,  walked 
on  in  the  universal  glamour,  carrying  a  sublimated 
market-basket.  The  staid,  high-gabled  houses  near 
by  were  gradually  transforming  themselves  into 
structures  more  beautiful  than  Greek  temples,  the 
chestnut-trees  by  the  old  castle,  chilled  as  they 
already  were  by  the  night-frosts  of  late  October, 
were  putting  forth  rosy  blossom  and  leaf  as  in  the 
merry  month  of  May,  when  Mrs.  Raymond,  uncon 
scious  of  these  phenomena,  hurried  into  the  room. 

"  She  is  gone,  Sydney." 

"  So  I  presume,  since  I  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you.  She  was  considerate  enough  not  to  stay 
long." 

"  Why,  I  thought  she  would  never  go.  She  was 
here  nearly  an  hour,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  surprised. 
"  What  are  you  reading  that  makes  the  time  pass 
so  quickly'  Tyndall  still?  Ah!  here  is  Grotiua' 
'  Law  of  Nations.'  "  She  looked  at  her  brother  ID 


122  AUNT  SEEENA. 

fond  admiration,  her  eyes  saying,  "  How  clever  you 
are  to  lose  3*ourself  in  such  dry  tomes  ! ' ' 

Sydney  smiled. 

"  The  law  can  be  very  engrossing,"  he  said  sober 
ly.  "  But  I  have  had  other  things  to  consider." 

u  Profitable  things,  no  doubt,"  she  replied  kindly. 
"  As  for  me,  I  have  simply  wasted  a  precious  hour. 
You  are  right  about  Mrs.  Vivien,  Sydney :  she's  a 
perfect  trail-of-the-serpent.  I  will  never  listen  to 
her  again." 

"  Until  you  see  her  again,"  he  thought. 

She  went  on,  "I  know  who  your  old  lady  is. 
Indeed,  I  did  not  ask,"  she  added  hastily. 

"I  am  sure  you  did  not,"  was  the  hearty  re 
sponse. 

"Her  name  is  Lennox,  and  she  has  letters  of 
introduction  to  me.  I  presume  she  will  call." 

Her  brother  watched  her  as  she  closed  a  portfolio 
on  the  writing-table,  and  put  some  scattered  pens  in 
their  places.  He  then  gently  suggested,  — 

"Perhaps,  as  she's  an  elderty  lady,  you  might 
make  an  exception,  and  call  first  upon  her." 

"I  have  not  the  least  objection  in  the  world," 
she  said  carelessly.  Then,  laughing,  "  Shall  I  take 
you  along  to  pay  your  respects  to  your  white-haired 
lady-love  ? ' ' 

"  Certainly,  if  you  like." 

"Now,  that's  really  kind!"  she  exclaimed,  de 
lighted  whenever  she  could  induce  her  usually 
reluctant  In-other  to  pay  a  visit.  "  Shall  we  go 
to-morrow,  or  Saturday?" 


AUNT  SEEENA.  123 

"I  am  engaged  to-morrow  and  Saturday,"  said 
Sydney  with  deliberation. 

"  Next  week,  then?  " 

"  I  am  engaged  next  week." 

"  But  can  you  go  to-day?  " 

"If  you  wish." 

"  Very  well,  just  after  lunch." 

She  left  the  room.  Moved  by  a  sudden  thought, 
she  came  swiftly  back,  and,  standing  on  the  thresh 
old,  said,  — 

"  Sydney,  there's  a  niece." 

"Ah!*" 

"  Yes  :  Mrs.  Vivien  said  so.  Did  you  happen  to 
see  the  niece  at  the  market  this  morning,  Sydney? " 

"  I  may  have  seen  her,"  looking  at  his  sister  with 
candid,  indifferent  eyes.  "I  told  you  that  I  saw 
two  young  girls  and  two  children.  Do  you  know  if 
the  niece  wears  a  long  braided  flaxen  tail  hanging 
down  her  back  ?  ' ' 

"Perhaps  it's  the  other  young  girl,"  thought 
Mrs.  Raymond,  somewhat  puzzled.  "It  is  some 
body,  I  am  sure.  No  one  ever  heard  of  a  man's 
falling  in  love  with  un  old  woman  unless  she  were  a 
Ninon  de  1'Enclos  or  some  such  person.  And  yet  I 
do  not  know  that  any  thing  could  surprise  me  much 
in  Sydney." 


124  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  X. 

"  One  of  the  golden  half-hours  which  are  flying  about  all 
over  the  world  had  come  to  them.  They  had  done  nothing 
to  deserve  it,  hut  it  was  there."  —  Miss  THACKERAY. 


IGHT  days  under  Frau  Rudolph's  roof  had 
-•  —  ^  been  sufficient  to  give  aunt  Serena  a  tolerably 
clear  idea  of  the  condition  of  things,  and  to  fill  her 
gentle  soul  with  wonder,  often  with  weariness.  "  It 
is  not  the  atmosphere  I  would  have  chosen  for  Rosa 
mond,"  she  said  to  herself;  "but  I  do  not  think  it 
will  harm  the  child  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  a  kind  of 
life  different  from  that  which  she  has  known.  I 
should  certainly  never  wish  her  to  feel  sufficiently 
acclimated  to  be  at  home  in  it  ;  and  there  is  no 
danger  of  that,"  smiling,  and  remembering  Rose's 
high  scorn  of  what  she  called  '  '  their  stabs  in  the 
dark,"  her  habitual  difficulty  in  keeping  her  temper 
in  Mrs.  Vivien's  presence,  her  keen  temptation  to 
regale  that  lady  wLh  a  free  expression  of  opinion. 
"  No,  it  will  not  hurt  the  child  ;  and  she  will  grow 
calmer  and  stronger.  She  will  learn  to  disregard 
it.  It  seems  to  me  desirable  for  a  young  girl  to 
learn  as  soon  as  possible  to  disregard  common  chat 
ter,"  mused  the  peaceful  old  lady,  unconscious  that 
,his  sentiment  would  be  regarded  by  many  excellent 
persons  as  little  less  than  revolutionary.  "  We  will 


AUNT  SEEENA.  125 

stay  here  for  the  present.  The  rooms  are  pleasant. 
Rose  will  be  interested  in  her  German  and  music 
and  Gertrude.  In  the  spring  we  will  make  some 
change.  A  little  friction  from  the  outside  world 
will  do  my  Rose  no  harm.  I  am  a  dull  old  being, 
who  makes  things  too  soft  for  her.  Let  them  irri 
tate  her.  She  will  learn  how  to  meet  them."  So 
they  decided  to  remain  through  the  winter  at  Frau 
Rudolph's  ;  and  every  day  Rose  flushed,  and  felt  ill 
at  ease,  and  inclined  to  do  battle  for  each  name  that 
was  slightingly  mentioned  in  her  presence,  whether 
she  knew  the  rights  and  wrongs  of  the  case  or  not. 
She  was  often  on  the  point  of  gallantly  defend 
ing  the  most  notorious  reprobates  in  Wynburg.  If 
Mrs.  Lancaster's  ponderous  principles  were  arrayed 
against  a  fellow-mortal,  if  gentle  Mrs.  Vivien  smeared 
him  with  honeyed  poison,  Rosamond  was  eager  to 
throw  down  her  clean  little  gauntlet  for  him,  and 
challenge  the  whole  world  ;  yet  she  restrained  her 
self  bravely.  She  knew  her  aunt's  disapproval  of 
scenes,  and,  recognizing  with  considerable  reluc 
tance  the  impropriety  of  rebuking  her  elders,  main 
tained  an  uneasy  silence.  Yet,  since  the  strong  flash 
of  young  eyes,  and  the  indignant  flush  on  a  pure 
cheek,  are  more  eloquent  than  words,  her  heroic 
reticence  served  by  no  means  as  a  disguise  for  her 
thoughts,  and  gained  for  her,  at  least  from  Mrs. 
Vivien,  little  good-will.  Aunt  Serena  herself  was 
not  an  enormous  restraint.  She  had  no  vocation 
for  public  preaching  or  active  missionary  work. 
There  were  some  things,  to  be  sure,  one  could  not 


126  AUNT  SERENA. 

say  to  her,  because  she  either  did  not  know,  01 
seemed  not  to  know,  what  they  meant.  But,  upon 
the  whole,  the  table-talk  ran  on  in  a  somewhat  tur 
bid  current  after,  as  before,  her  advent.  She  con 
tented  herself  with  dexterously  leading  it  now  and 
then  into  a  new  channel  without  apparently  oppos 
ing  it ;  and  often  a  humorous  observation  from  her 
would  have  a  happy  effect  in  causing  a  burst  of 
light  laughter,  which  would  clear  the  heavy,  lurid 
atmosphere.  She  never  seemed  to  listen  with  the 
slightest  interest  to  a  gossipy  story ;  and  her  little 
air  of  civility  was  so  evidently  for  the  speaker,  and 
not  for  his  theme,  that  this  also  was  sometimes 
mildly  repressive.  She  talked  with  Rose  cheerily 
upon  subjects  that  interested  her,  drawing  Gertrude 
Peyton,  the  shy  students,  and  even  the  twins,  into 
the  conversation,  so  that  the  new  element  at  the 
table  was  at  least  perceptible.  Still,  as  she  herself 
very  accurately  reasoned,  these  were  nearly  all  thor 
oughly  seasoned  souls ;  at  all  events,  too  old  to  be 
easily  trained  in  new  directions.  She,  therefore, 
was  kind  to  all,  and  harmless  and  wise,  and  did  not 
try  to  make  the  crooked  straight,  but  only  to  keep 
the  straight  from  becoming  crooked. 

"  God  save  me  from  living  in  so  small  a  world  !  " 
cried  Rose  passionately,  as  they  came  in  from 
dinner  one  day,  after  an  unusually  brilliant  and 
varied  dissertation  from  Mrs.  Vivien.  It  was  the 
Thursday  she  had  been  to  see  Mrs.  Raymond,  and 
having  had  the  benefit  of  a  rehearsal,  played  her 
part  marvellously  well.  All  her  stories  gained 


AUNT  SEEENA.  127 

flavor  with  repetition,  and  Mrs.  Raymond  3  elegant 
repose  of  manner  would  have  been  for  once  sadly 
shaken  had  she  known  how  she  figured  in  the 
sparkling  recital.  There  had  been  so  very  much 
of  it,  even  Miss  Lennox  looked  weary  and  pained ; 
and  Rose's  impetuous  spirit  had  long  since  flung  out 
its  crimson  banners  of  protest  and  defiance,  when 
aunt  and  niece  withdrew. 

"  God  save  me  from  living  in  so  small  a  world  !  " 
exclaimed  Rose,  holding  herself  erect,  and  throwing 
up  her  head  as  if  to  draw  a  freer  breath. 

"Amen!"  said  the  old  lady  softly,  making  no 
further  comment. 

Rose  paced  the  room,  at  first  swiftly,  gradually 
with  less  vehemence,  then  suddenly  stopped,  with  a 
little  apologetic  laugh. 

' '  Of  course  I  know  I  am  too  foolish  to  be  so 
excited  about  things  that  do  not  concern  me," 
she  remarked. 

"  It  would  seem  so,  dear." 

"  But  that  woman, — I  have  never  known  any  thing 
like  her.  She  makes  my  head  feel  like  a  kaleido 
scope.  Aunt  Harriet  is  bad  enough,  but  even  she 
is  not  mean." 

"That  is  true,"  said  Miss  Lennox  cordially. 
"  She  has  never  been  fond  of  petty  gossip.  She  is 
too  strong  for  that." 

Some  one  knocked ;  and  Gertrude  came  rapidly  in, 
more  joyous  than  her  wont,  and  with  a  faint  color 
.n  her  cheeks.  She  carried  a  large  music-roll. 

Rosamond  sprang  eagerly  to  welcome  her. 


128  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  I  am  so  glad !  We  missed  you  at  dinner. 
Where  were  you?  We  had  roast  chicken  and  — 
vivisection." 

"  I  was  at  the  Conservatory  rehearsal.  I  had  to 
play  my  concerto  and  sing :  you  know  the  concert  is 
next  week.  They  praised  me  ;  and  I  have  come 
back  '  puffed  up  with  majestick  pride,'  like  Walter 
Scott's  '  Maidie.'  And  I  have  been  spared  the  vivi 
section.  I  suppose  you  mean  the  Vivien  woman's," 
she  said  contemptuously. 

"Have  you  had  any  thing  to  eat,  my  dear?" 
was  aunt  Serena's  pertinent  inquiry. 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  "  and  Gertrude  smiled  gratefully.  It 
was  delicious  to  feel  that  anybody  cared  whether  she 
was  hungry  or  not.  "  Frau  Rudolph  gave  me  a 
princely  lunch  at  twelve.  She  is  a  good  old  soul." 
The  girl's  face  looked  younger  and  softer  than  when 
they  first  saw  her. 

' '  Frau  Rudolph  is  a  beautiful  product  of  a  high 
civilization,"  said  Rose,  taking  Gertrude's  hands 
affectionately.  "  But  I  am  a  savage  of  the  Western 
wilds.  Perhaps  if  you  would  sing  to  me  it  would 
have  a  humanizing  effect." 

And  Gertrude  sang.  As  her  strong,  sweet  con 
tralto  voice  filled  the  room,  peace  descended  upon  it. 
They  forgot  the  small  and  ignoble.  They  ceased  to 
hear  the  jarring  world-noises.  "It  is  like  the  Song 
of  Life  of  the  young  Sun-god,"  thought  Rose.  She 
was  half  kneeling  on  cushions  at  her  aunt's  feet  in 
the  recessed  window.  She  looked  up  at  the  steep 
red  roofs.  The  sun  streamed  down  warmly  upon 


AUNT  SERENA. 


them.  The  sky  looked  far  off,  cloudless,  and  calm. 
"  It  is  not  worth  while  to  care  about  the  other 
things,"  she  thought.  "  They  are  not  real.  These 
are  the  real  things,  — love  and  faith  and  nobleness. 
These  are  life."  Her  eyes  grew  moist :  she  laid 
her  head  on  aunt  Serena's  knee.  Gertrude  sang  on. 
There  was  an  exultant  ring  in  her  voice  to-day,  —  a 
paean  of  victory. 

She  paused,  struck  a  few  fitful  chords,  and  began 
in  a  different  strain. 

,,§err,  fdjufee  ntidj  bor  iljm," 

she  sang,  in  a  low,  passionate  voice.  Masini's 
love-song,  more  than  two  centuries  old,  came  welling 
up  from  the  depths  of  her  heart ;  and  little,  untried, 
innocent  Rose  trembled,  responsive  to  its  power 
and  pathos. 

"  For  his  eyes  haunt  me,  his  sweet  voice  stirs  my 
soul,"  moans  the  woman's  wounded  heart.  "  I  can 
not  resist  him,  yet  I  dare  not  listen  to  him.  Lord, 
do  thou  save  me  from  him,  that  he  may  never  love 

me." 

,,§err,  fcfjii^e  mid)  &or  iljm, 
2)afj  er  mid)  nur  nid)t  Uebt." 

and  the  prayer  rang  out  in  a  wild  abandonment  of 
love  and  pain. 

"Thou  alone  seest  my  tears  when  his  eye  smiles 
upon  me,  when  but  his  light  breath  touches  me. 
Thou  knowest  my  rapture  and  my  woe." 

No  wonder  then  that  they  heard  no  knock.  Frau 
Rudolph  bustled  in,  in  her  usual  cheery  fashion, 


130  AUNT  8EEENA. 

bringing  cards  and  ushering  in  visitors  simultane 
ously.  "Mrs.  Raymond  and  Mr.  Sydney  Bruce," 
she  announced. 

Miss  Lennox,  in  whose  delicate  cheeks  the  music 
had  brought  a  sweet  flush,  went  quickly  forward  to 
greet  her  guests  ;  and  Rose  followed  with  a  rapt  soft 
ness  on  her  face,  the  passionate  prayer  of  the  old 
love-song  still  echoing  in  her  ears. 

"  She  is  lovelier  so,"  thought  Sydney,  as  the 
grave  ceremonies  of  presentation  took  place.  "  She 
is  adorable."  Gertrude  rose,  but  remained  behind 
the  piano,  stiff,  and  coldly  on  guard,  until  aunt 
Serena's  gentle  voice  called,  — 

"Miss  Peyton!  Mrs.  Raymond,  let  me  intro 
duce  our  friend  Miss  Peyton,  our  first  friend  in 
Wyubnrg,"  she  added  sweetly.  Rose  had  solemnly 
resolved  at  dinner  never  to  like  this  much-talked-of 
Mrs.  Raymond.  Any  person  to  whom  Mrs.  Vivien 
constantly  and  familiarly  alluded  as  an  intimate 
friend,  was,  in  Rose's  opinion,  irreparably  compro 
mised.  But  the  grace  and  unaffected  cordiality  with 
which  Mrs.  Raymond  extended  her  hand  to  Miss 
Peyton,  remembering  distinctly  where  they  had  met 
and  the  pleasure  her  beautiful  voice  had  given,  com 
pletely  disarmed  Gertrude's  gallant  champion. 

Her  sudden  look  of  delight  did  not  escape  Syd 
ney,  whose  observant  eyes  saw,  without  seeming  to 
see,  every  change  of  color,  every  shade  of  feeling,  on 
her  lovely,  varying  face. 

The  conversation  began  naturally  with  the  morn 
ing  meeting  at  the  market,  then,  on  the  part  of  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  131 

two  older  ladies,  wandered  off  from  Wynburg  to 
people  and  things  at  home ;  while  Mr.  Bruce,  turn 
ing  to  Miss  Pej'ton,  talked  of  her  music  with  a  sym 
pathetic  knowledge  of  the  subject  and  a  deference  to 
her  opinions  which  made  Rosamond  ecstatic.  She 
was  so  used  to  feeling  indignant  on  Gertrude's  ac 
count  that  this  perfect  courtesy  seemed  an  enchant 
ing  thing  to  her.  She  was  more  than  content  to 
sit  quietly  near,  and  see  Gertrude  appreciated.  At 
every  bright,  pertinent  remark  made  by  Miss  Pey 
ton,  Rosamond  would  look  Mr.  Bruce  full  in  the 
face,  to  be  sure  that  it  was  not  lost  upon  him.  "  Is 
she  not  charming  ? ' '  her  unconscious  eyes  were  con 
tinually  asking  ;  and  his  manner,  with  its  grave  and 
kind  response,  expressed  such  approval  of  her 
friend,  that  Rose  began  to  feel  that  this  Mr.  Sydney 
Bruce  was  a  person  of  extraordinary  discernment. 
She  had  instinctive  confidence  in  him.  It  seemed  as 
if  she  had  always  known  him.  There  was  something 
natural  in  listening  to  him  and  Gertrude.  It  was  as 
if  she  had  been  doing  only  that  for  ages.  She  felt 
very  gentle  and  calm  and  at  rest,  and  was  quite  un 
aware  that  she  was  telegraphing  every  emotion  to 
him.  How  pretty  and  dainty  Gertrude  was,  and 
how  cleverly  she  was  talking.  What  a  strong,  fine 
head  Mr.  Bruce  had.  She  scrutinized  it  with  un 
disguised  interest.  What  picture  was  it  like  ?  She 
held  her  own  pretty  little  head  on  one  side  as  she 
attentively  studied  his.  Her  face  was  as  soft,  fresh, 
innocent,  and  untroubled  as  a  happy  child's.  He 
turned,  and  met  her  eyes.  "  You  are  wondering  if 
we  have  met  before  to-day,  Miss  Wellesley?  " 


132  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  No,"  she  said  simpty.  "  I  remember  you  per* 
fectly.  I  saw  you  at  Northbrooke  once." 

"  I  saw  you  at  Northbrooke  more  than  once." 

"  I  did  not  know  that,"  she  said  brightly. 

"  Once  by  the  school.  Once  you  were  riding. 
And  still  another  time  I  saw  you."  He  spoke  gen 
tly  and  gravely. 

"Ah,"  sighed  Rose,  "then  you  must  have  seen 
my  beautiful  Aloha." 

"Yes,  I  saw  him." 

"  Is  that  your  horse?  "  asked  Gertrude.  "  What 
an  odd,  pretty  name." 

"  It  means  '  Love  to  you,'  "  explained  Rose  seri 
ously,  looking  first  at  Gertrude,  then  at  Sydney. 
"  Aloha  —  Love  to  you,"  she  repeated,  lingering  a 
little  on  the  soft  words,  and  looking  him  innocently 
in  the  face.  There  was  a  sudden  gleam  in  his 
eyes. 

"It  is  Hawaiian,"  she  went  on.  "  It  is  the 
greeting  in  the  Sandwich  Islands.  Is  it  not  sweeter 
than  all  other  greetings  in  the  world?  Alolia  is  the 
common  daiby  greeting,  you  know.  It  is  used  care 
lessly,  a  gentleman  from  the  islands  told  me,  like 
our  good-morning  or  good-by ;  but  the  word  ex 
presses  affection  and  kindness,  not  with  precision, 
but  vaguely  —  deliriously.  It  is  like  the  fragrance 
of  a  flower,  not  the  flower  itself.  The  peasant  may 
say  it  to  the  king,  and  the  king  to  the  peasant. 
Then,  there  is  Alolia  nui.  That  is  a  little  nearer 
and  dearer.  And  Alolia  nui  loa  means  all  that  can 
be  expressed  of  kve,  reverence,  intimacy,  and  devo- 


AUNT  SERENA.  133 

tion.  Aloha's  real  name  is  Aloha  Nui  Loa,"  she 
added  soberly.  "  But  I  only  call  him  that  on  very 
solemn  occasions." 

"  When  you  bade  him  farewell,  I  presume,"  said 
Mr.  Bruce. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quickly.  "But  how  could  you 
know?  I  cried,"  she  confessed  in  her  child- like 
way.  "I  went  out  to  his  stable  the  morning  we 
left.  I  put  my  arms  round  his  neck,  and  cried,  and 
talked  to  him,  and  kissed  him  good-by.  It  was 
my  one  grief  in  coming  away.  I  knew  he  under 
stood.  I  am  sure  he  misses  me,"  and  she  looked 
to  Sydney  for  confirmation. 

"  Unquestionably,"  he  responded  with  strong  em 
phasis.  "But,  Miss  Wellesley,  your  farewell  to 
Aloha  reminds  me  of  a  German  legend  in  which 
there  is  also  a  maiden  who  loved  her  beautiful  horse, 
and  stole  into  his  stall  before  dawn  to  tell  him  her 
troubles." 

"Did  he  help  her?"  Rose  asked  in  good  faith. 
"  Aloha  has  often  given  me  good  advice." 

' '  He  did  more  than  that ;  and  her  griefs  were 
greater  than  yours,  I  think,"  he  said  soberly. 
"  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it?  " 

'  Why,  this  is  idyllic,"  though!  Mrs.  Raymond, 
amused,  hearing  the  last  remarks.  "My  reticent 
brother  telling  fairy-tales  to  youth." 

"According  to  the  poem,  the  maiden  steals  into 
Ms  stall  before  dawn,  like  you,  Miss  Wellesley," 
Mr.  Bruce  related.  "  Her  horse  has  a  silver  bridle. 
He  is  shod  with  pure  gold,  and  his  girth  is  edged 
with  pearls." 


134  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  Aloha  is  a  philosopher.  He  would  not  care  for 
finery,"  Rose  commented  with  dignitj-. 

"  She  combs  his  mane  with  a  golden  comb,  and 
braids  it  with  pearls,"  Sydney  went  on.  "  She 
makes  a  cup  of  her  little  white  hand,  and  he  drinks 
rich  Burgundy  wine  from  it." 

"  Miss  "Wellesley's  hand  would  make  a  tantalizing 
cup  for  an  animal  consumed  with  thirst,"  laughed 
Gertrude. 

Rose  wrinkled  up  her  soft  palm  with  an  air  of 
satisfaction. 

"•  It's  a  very  good  cup,"  she  said.  Sydney  scru 
tinized  it  as  if  he  were  merely  considering  its  prac 
tical  utility .  "  If  she  holds  it  out  a  moment  longer 
I  shall  kiss  it,"  he  thought ;  and  the  queer  little  flash 
came  in  his  eyes  again. 

"A  man  does  not  look  like  that  for  nothing," 
mused  wise  Gertrude.  "  But  if  I  had  not  seen  it 
twice,  I  should  think  I  was  dreaming,  he  is  so 
strong  and  calm." 

"  I  will  try  the  Burgundy,"  said  the  unconscious 
Rose.  "I  hope  Aloha  will  like  it,  it  sounds  so 
poetical.  He  is  very  partial  to  sugar,  and,  I  fear  it 
is  a  plebeian  taste,  to  carrots." 

"  This  horse  drinks  rich,  red  Burgundy  wine  from 
Hs  mistress's  hand,"  the  faithful  chronicler  con 
tinued.  "  Then  she  throws  her  arm  round  his  neck, 
lays  her  cheek  against  him  ;  and  her  warm  tears  flow 
fast." 

"  That  is  like  me,"  nodded  Rosamond. 

"  His  head  droops  lovingly." 


AUNT  SERENA.  135 

"  Like  Aloha,"  she  said  softly. 

"  And  she  whispers  to  him  all  her  griefs." 

,,9TJeiu  ftoljcS  3toJ3,  ntcin  tvcucS  $ofj, 
Sir  flage  id)  all  mein  Setb." 

"  '  I  tell  thee  all  my  woes,'  she  says.  '  They 
will  force  me  to  marry  the  false  and  hated  man. 
My  fleet,  strong  steed,  my  noble  steed,  save  me  this 
day  or  never.'  And  the  horse,  in  his  wrath,  breaks 
asunder  his  golden  halter,  then  bends  his  slender 
knee  before  his  mistress,  looks  long  at  her  with  im 
ploring  eyes  full  of  undreamed-of  meaning,  and  lays 
his  head  at  her  feet.  She  kisses  him,  murmuring, 
*  O  save  me,  my  faithful  one  ! '  and  springs  into  the 
saddle." 

"  That  is  all  like  Aloha,"  cried  Eose  with  tender 
enthusiasm. 

Sydney  smiled  kindly. 

The  two  other  ladies  were  now  listening  with  much 
amusement. 

"Then,  through  the  gray  morning  twilight  they 
fled.  They  leave  behind  them,"  says  the  poem, 
' '  the  swallow  in  his  swiftest  flight ;  and  the  angry 
s'.orm,  riding  above  on  the  clouds,  is  powerless  to 
overtake  them.  The  marvellous  horse  never  relaxes 
his  speed.  They  reach  the  dark  elfin-wood.  They 
reach  the  diamond  elfin-castle.  In  the  court  the 
horse  bends  his  knee,  and  waits  motionless  for  his 
mistress  to  dismount.  As  she  throws  her  arms 
round  him  once  more,  to  thank  him  and  bless  him 
for  saving  her,  she  finds  herself  clasping  the  beauti 
ful  prince  of  the  elves,  who  makes  her  his  bride. 


136  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  Oh,"  exclaimed  Rose,  with  real  disappointment 
in  her  voice,  "  but  she  lost  her  horse." 

They  all  laughed. 

"  You  think  a  fairy  prince  a  poor  exchange,  Miss 
Wellesley,"  remarked  Mrs.  Raymond. 

"  Yes,  for  such  a  horse  as  that  or  Aloha,"  Rose 
answered  quite  earnestly. 

"Perhaps  we  might  make  a  compromise,"  sug 
gested  Mrs.  Raymond.  "  His  elfin  highness  in  gra 
cious  mood  may  transform  himself  now  and  then 
into  the  form  in  which  he  so  long  served  his  lady 
love." 

"  But  then  she  would  lose  her  prince,"  said  Rose. 

"You  are  really  very  difficult,  Miss  Wellesley," 
remarked  Sydney.  "  Pray,  how  would  you  like  the 
story  to  end?  " 

Rose  laughed.  "  I  would  have  the  maiden  keep 
her  horse  and  find  her  prince." 

"That  is  less  poetical,"  persisted  Mr.  Bruce; 
"  but  it  may  be  possible  to  arrange  it." 

"  Please  try,"  said  Rose  gayly.  "  You  have  said 
enough  already  to  make  me  feel  very  shy  towards 
Aloha.  I  am  sure  I  shall  approach  him  with  trepi 
dation,  until  he  convinces  me  there  is  nothing  super 
natural  about  him." 

"  I  will  answer  for  Aloha's  pedigree,  my  dear," 
remarked  her  aunt.  "  He  comes  of  staid,  respecta 
ble  English  stock,  with  a  racer  or  two  among  his 
distinguished  sires,  but  no  elves.  His  family  would 
feel  horrified  and  insulted  at  so  wild  a  sugges 
tion." 


AUNT  SERENA.  137 

"  "We  must  arrange  some  rides,"  said  Mrs.  Ray 
mond  affably.  "  My  Pearl  is  not  your  Aloha,  Miss 
Wellesley ;  but  she  is  a  ver}7  good  animal. ' '  Rose 
thanked  her  with  unfeigned  delight.  ' '  And  you 
ride  too,  Miss  Peyton?  " 

Gertrude  colored.  "  I  have  ridden  —  years  ago," 
—  she  said  "  at  home,  — but  never  here." 

"  Then  it  is  quite  time  you  should  begin  again," 
returned  Mrs.  Raymond  with  friendly  tyranny. 
"  Mephisto  will  do,"  she  added,  as  Gertrude  smiled. 
Oh,  do  not  think  he  snorts  fire  and  brimstone.  He 
is  far  less  fiery  than  Pearl,  to  tell  the  truth.  But 
that's  one  of  the  inconsistencies  of  life.  Things 
and  people  so  rarely  have  appropriate  names,"  she 
said  lightly,  rising  to  go. 

"  Oh,  do  not  say  no !  "  she  begged,  as  Gertrude 
was  about  to  speak.  "  I  have  set  my  heart  on  some 
riding  parties.  There  are  delightful  roads  about 
here,  and  sometimes  we  can  ride  till  Christmas. 
This  fall  promises  well,  it  is  so  mild.  But  we  will 
arrange  every  thing  later.  Mind  you  do  not  disap 
point  me,  Miss  Peyton." 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  disappoint  my  sister  or  me, 
Miss  Peyton,"  said  Sydney  in  his  kind,  grave  way. 
"She  has  not  mentioned  me.  She  takes  me  for 
granted.  But  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you  that  she 
means  me  to  go." 

"  I  thank  you  -both.  I  will  consider  it,"  said 
Gertrude,  hesitating  and  troubled.  Then,  "  I  will 
talk  with  Miss  Lennox  about  it,"  she  added  with 
more  decision,  "  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  do  what  sh) 
thinks  best." 


138  AUNT  SERENA. 

Aunt  Serena,  with  an  air  of  ownership,  drew  the 
young  girl's  hand  within  her  arm. 

Rosamond's  quick  glance  at  Sydney  said,  '(  See 
how  things  trouble  this  poor,  dear  Gertrude." 

"I  know  it  all,"  was  his  silent,  sympathetic  re- 
eponse. 

"  Lovely  beings,"  said  Rose,  as  the  door  closed. 
"  I  bask  in  their  sunshine." 

"Mrs.  Vivien  cannot  reach  you  now,"  said  Ger 
trude. 

"  My  dear,"  replied  Rose,  "  you  are  going  to 
ride  Mephisto,  and  I  am  going  to  ride  Pearl.  I  am 
scarcely  aware  that  Mrs.  Vivien  exists." 

Gertrude  smiled  a  little  sadly. 

"  I  have  promised  Mrs.  Raymond,"  remarked 
aunt  Serena,  watching  her  narrowly,  "  to  return  her 
visit  immediately,  this  very  week,  and  to  bring  you 
both.  You  can  come  with  us  Saturday,  can  you 
not?  She  is  a  most  charming  woman,  and  you  seem 
to  have  quite  won  her  heart :  "  she  patted  Gertrude's 
hand  affectionately. 

"  You  are  all  angels,"  exclaimed  the  girl,  and 
abruptly  left  the  room. 


AUNT  SERENA.  139 


CHAPTER  XI. 

"  Why  should  he  stay,  whom  love  doth  press  to  go  ?  " 
Midsummer-Night's  Dream. 

"  Her  throat  was  serpent,  but  the  words  she  spake 
Came  as  through  bubbling  honey." 

KEATS. 

AUNT  SERENA  with  quietly  folded  hands  sat 
waiting  for  Rose  and  coffee.  Miss  Lennox 
was  an  early  riser.  She  liked  a  still  half-hour  with 
herself  before  the  day  seized  her,  and  gave  her  to 
other  people.  Some  of  the  long  casements  were 
flung  wide  open.  The  room  had  too  many  windows : 
it  was  audaciously  opposed  to  architectural  rules. 
But,  like  certain  music  full  of  forbidden  consecutive 
fifths,  like  a  pretty  woman  with  flagrantly  irregular 
features,  it  nevertheless  succeeded  in  being  charm 
ing.  The  sunshine  streamed  in  boldly  on  the  table 
laid  for  breakfast,  gave  an  added  lustre  to  Frau 
Rudolph's  stout  little  silver  cream-pitcher,  and  tried 
the  effect  of  an  aureole  round  aunt  Serena's  saint 
like  head.  In  the  freshness  of  the  morning  there 
was  no  chill. 

"  If  this  is  our  bleak  November  translated  into 
German,  I  like  it,"  she  mused.  "  I  suppose  the 
wind  has  already  begun  its  fall  symphony  in  my 
high-crested  oaks.  How  I  love  all  the  sweet,  mel- 


140  AUNT  SERENA. 

ancholy  voices  of  the  Nest !  Yet  it  is  well  that  we 
came  here:  it  is  well."  She  looked  up  with  an 
ineffably  sweet  smile,  as  if  communing  with  unseen 
angels.  She  often  wore  this  look  in  her  still  half- 
hours.  She  was  thinking  of  Rosamond  in  all  her 
rich  fulness  of  life.  She  was  with  her  own  dead, 
beautiful  past. 

"  My  dear  ones,  my  dear  lost  ones,  I  would  have 
your  approval  of  my  guidance  of  our  child.  That 
is  my  aspiration.  That  has  ever  been  my  aim. 
You,  my  sister,  you,  my  brother,  and  you,  my 
noblest  and  strongest,  whom  I  lost  when  we  were 
37oung,  dim  ages  ago.  Ah,  I  thought  the  great 
world  was  dead,  because  one  poor  stricken  heart 
staggered  under  its  burden.  Yet  the  world  slowly 
grew  alive  again,  —  as  it  always  does  if  one  waits. 
First  I  heard  without  pain  the  rippling  joy  in  my 
sister's  voice,  and  next  I  found,  myself  watching  the 
opening  leaves  ;  and  I  knew  my  world  was  not  dead, 
only  cold  and  torpid.  Then,  after  years,  my  little 
Rose  breathed  upon  it  with  her  balmy,  baby  breath, 
and  filled  it  with  warmth  and  fragrance  ;  and  with 
her  growing  life,  my  life  became  beautiful.  She  has 
grown  in  freedom,  that  her  spirit  might  develop  as 
nature  willed.  She  has  been  aided,  never  forced  or 
stunted.  She  is  strong  and  upright.  She  is  loving 
and  pitiful,  and  ah,  so  sweet  a  sight  to  my  old 
eyes !  But  it  is  a  solemn  thing  to  guide  a  young 
soul.  Dear  ones,  without  you  all,  I  could  not  have 
done  it.  I  have  kept  you  near.  I  have  thought 
your  thoughts.  You  have  lived  on  in  my  life. 


AUNT  SERENA.  141 

You  live  on  in  our  child's.  I  have  been  only 
your  steward.  I  have  cared  for  your  priceless 
treasure. 

"And  now  I  am  looking  back  on  her  happy  year? 
of  girlhood,  and  almost  bidding  them  farewell  for 
her,  tho  bright,  glad  years.  A  larger  life  is  dawning 
before  her,  though  she  does  not  know.  Her  young 
eyes  do  not  discern  the  rosy  signs  of  promise.  But 
I  have  seen.  The  fairy  tale  has  begun.  The  old 
godmother  sees  the  true  prince.  The  prince  sees 
the  maiden.  The  maiden  is  a  happy,  simple  thing, 
and  sees  only  the  cowslips  in  her  path.  Who  knows 
if  she  will  look  up  ?  Yet  such  a  wooer  rarely  woos 
in  vain.  He  talked  with  Gertrude,  but  he  watched 
my  Rose.  There  she  is,  my  bonny  little  cowslip 
girl!" 

Rose  came  lightly  in,  her  bright  face  all  aglow, 
and  bent  her  pretty  head  for  her  morning  kiss. 
Presently  buxom  Biibele  appeared  with  the  coffee 
and  some  letters. 

"Two  for  you,  -and  an  elephantine  one  for  me 
from  Harold.  I  wonder  what  he  has  to  say  for  him 
self;  "  and  Rose,  taking  her  place  at  the  little  table 
opposite  her  aunt,  opened  her  large,  thick  letter  with 
no  frantic  signs  of  haste. 

But  her  interest  evidently  increased  with  the  read 
ing,  and  her  face  changed  constantly.  She  puckered 
up  her  mouth  like  a  bewildered  child,  smiled,  dim 
pled,  frowned,  and  finally  exclaimed,  — 

"  Aunt  Serena,  that  boy  is  actually  coming  !  " 

Miss    Lennox    glanced    up    composedly  from   a 


142  AUNT  SEEENA. 

mournful  letter  from  her  trusty  John,  whose  views, 
alwa}*s  sufficiently  pessimistic,  were  now,  owing  to 
her  absence,  tinged  with  black  despair.  The  only 
gleam  of  cheerfulness  which  enlivened  his  atrabi1- 
ious  production  was  apparent  in  his  account  of  a 
certain  widow  Tompkins's  dissatisfaction  with  the 
flannels  provided  for  her  winter- wear  by  "Miss  Len 
nox.  "You  tell  her,"  says  she,  —  and  John  with 
punctilious  exactness  delivers  the  woman's  ungra 
cious  message  to  her  benefactor,  —  "You  tell  her 
I  don't  say  them  flannels  ain't  better'n  nothin', 
but  I  do  say  they  ain't  what  I  kalkerlated  they  was 
a-goin'  to  be."  Taught  by  long  experience  with 
indigent  fellow-creatures,  Miss  Lennox  knew  grati 
tude  to  be  rather  an  attribute  of  the  well-born  soul 
than  of  the  chronic  pauper,  and  never  counted  in  the 
least  upon  it  in  her  many  benevolent  schemes. 
"  Why  should  they  be  grateful?  "  she  thought :  "  I 
do  not  believe  I  should  be  in  their  circumstances." 
She  also  reasoned  that  widow  Tompkins,  when  a 
flannel-less  person,  had  idealized-  the  coveted  good. 
Attaining  it  after  a  life-time  of  longing,  possession 
had  cooled  her  ardor.  "The  main  thing  is,  that 
they  keep  her  rheumatic  old  bones  warm,"  reflected 
sensible  aunt  Serena,  finding  nothing  unnatural  in 
the  widow's  sentiments.  "But,"  raising  her  ejTe- 
brows  doubtfully,  "  why  my  old  John  should  fairly 
gloat  over  her  discontent,  and  luxuriate  in  the  wrath 
with  which  she  regards  me  and  my  humble  offerings, 
I  cannot  imagine  ; ' '  and  meditating  with  puzzled 
amusement  upon  this  intricacy  of  human  nature,  she 


AUNT  SEEENA.  143 

had  about  concluded  that  it  was  quite  btyond  the 
reach  of  her  innocent  philosophic  probings,  when 
Rose  spoke. 

"  He  is  not  coming  yet,  of  course,"  Miss  Lennox 
answered  with  calm  conviction,  her  mind  still  dwell- 
irg  on  the  involved  Tompkins  problem. 

"But  he  is,  aunt  Serena;"  and  Rose  laughed, 
yet  looked  a  little  indignant.  "He  is  coming  im 
mediately.  That  is  the  extraordinary  part  of  it. 
It  is  the  craziest  possible  letter.  Do  read  it." 

Aunt  Serena  put  on  her  spectacles,  and  read. 

The  letter  bubbled  over  with  animal  spirits,  and 
was  an  extravagant  recital  of  what  the  writer  seemed 
to  consider  a  three-months'  campaign,  and  final 
glorious  victory,  —  the  strictby  historical  narrative 
being  frequently  interpolated  with  little  bursts  of 
eager  boyish  affection  for  Rose. 

Harold  began  by  solemnly  expressing  the  hope 
that  Rose  might  at  last  be  convinced  of  the  earnest 
ness  and  depth  of  his  feelings,  since,  when  the  letter 
reached  her,  he  would  already  be  on  his  way  to 
Wynburg.  Life  away  from  her  was  worthless.  He 
thought  of  her  days  and  dreamed  of  her  nights,  in 
short,  could  not  exist  without  her.  Then,  abruptly 
ceasing  his  amorous  plaint,  with  suppressed  exulta 
tion  he  begged  her  and  dear,  kind  aunt  Serena  not  to 
be  horrified  to  learn  that  he  was  "  suspended."  He 
had  to  do  it  himself,  he  ingenuously  assured  them, 
because  he  could  not  manage  the  thing  in  any  other 
way.  He  was  determined  to  come  to  Rose,  and 
his  mother  absolutely  refused  to  let  him  go  before 


144  AUNT  SERENA. 

commencement.  "When  he  had  left  college,  he 
could  travel;  not  before."  Here  Rose  figured  as 
his  guiding-star,  and  there  was  a  short  paragraph 
of  fine  writing.  Resuming  his  direct  narrative,  he 
related  his  arguments  with  his  mother,  and  then- 
futility .  His  faculties,  he  had  modestly  promised 
her,  would  ripen  to  such  a  degree,  if  she  would 
permit  him  to  "  cut  this  half,"  as  he  called  it,  that 
he  would  graduate  the  following  year  with  all  the 
honors,  to  the  everlasting  glory  of  the  name  of 
Thornton.  He  quoted  many  learned  authorities 
against  finishing  one's  university  course  too  young, 
and  assured  her  of  his  conviction  that  his  was  the 
kind  of  brain  that  matures  slowly.  This  last  fact 
she  generously  admitted,  but  remained  otherwise 
unconvinced.  Women  are  not  logical,  he  reflected. 
It  is  useless  to  appeal  to  them  in  this  purely  intel 
lectual  manner.  They  should  be  influenced  through 
their  affections,  their  kind  hearts.  Acting  upon 
this  idea,  he  then  had  dyspepsia  in  a  most  aggra 
vated  form.  He  heroically  subsisted  upon  dry  toast 
and  tea  at  home,  his  young  viking  frame  being 
sustained  by  oyster  suppers  elsewhere.  His  only 
books  were  medical  works ;  his  only  conversation 
depressed  and  hypochondriac  in  the  extreme.  He 
deplored  the  increasing  prevalence  of  dyspepsia 
among  overworked  men  of  genius,  and  stated  that 
complete  change  of  air,  diversion,  and  moderate 
exercise  were  known  to  have  beneficial  effects  if  the 
patient  were  still  young,  and  the  disease  had  not 
become  chronic.  He  had  suffered  assiduously  about 


AUNT  SERENA.  145 

three  weeks ;  when  one  day  his  mother  laughed 
heartily  in  his  face,  and  told  him  he  was  really  too 
insolently  brown  and  ruddy  to  attempt  that  role. 

Remembering  with  satisfaction  that  he  had  seen 
robust-looking  men  preyed  upon  by  dangerous  bron 
chial  troubles,  he  now  took  a  violent  cold.  He 
entertained  strong  hopes  of  success  by  means  of  his 
new  malady,  because  his  mother  had  a  nervous 
dread  of  consumption.  He  set  an  alarm-clock  to 
wake  him  at  three,  mornings,  and,  wrapped  in  his 
dressing-gown,  crawled  in  a  feeble  and  shattered 
condition  to  his  mother's  room,  piteousty  begging 
for  something  to  stop  his  cough.  Whether  the 
wicked  schemer's  heart  was  touched  by  her  anxiety, 
or  whether  the  appearance  of  the  family  doctor  in 
the  little  comedy  prevented  further  histrionic  suc 
cesses,  the  bronchial  difficulty,  like  the  dyspepsia, 
was  of  brief  duration.  Mrs.  Thornton  having  de 
sired  an  examination  of  her  dear  boy's  chest,  "  old 
Fleming  and  I,"  Harold  related  with  huge  enjoy 
ment  of  the  discreditable  episode,  "went  through 
the  performance  with  profound  gravity  ;  but  his  very 
stethoscope  was  bursting  with  suppressed  laughter." 

The  bad  boy  confessed  that  he  had  then  shaken 
hands  with  the  medical  man,  and  said,  with  a  pa 
thetic  tremor  in  his  voice,  — 

"  Whatever  you  may  have  discovered,  doctor,  I 
beg  that  you  will  not  needlessly  alarm  my  mother ;  " 
to  which  the  doctor  dryly  replied,  "  On  the  con 
trary,  my  dear  Thornton,  I  shall  endeavor  to  re 
assure  her."  But  the  good  doctor,  it  seems,  had  a 


{46  AUNT  SERENA. 

certain  weak  liking  for  the  young  sinner  ;  for,  while 
he  dispelled  Mrs.  Thornton's  fears,  he  did  not 
inform  her  that  her  son  coughed,  "  not  wisely  but 
too  well,"  from  the  most  superbly  vigorous  lungs 
that  ever  won  a  boat-race. 

The  mother  had  her  suspicions  now  and  then,  he 
related ;  but  she  evidently  reproached  herself  for 
doubting  him.  She  was  apt  to  watch  him  curiously 
when  his  cough's  hollow  reverberation  pained  her 
ear.  He  admitted  he  still  kept  it  up,  although  it 
was  a  great  bore  now  that  his  last  great  scheme  had 
succeeded.  "  But  I  don't  like  to  be  a  rascal  on  all 
points,"  he  explained,  "  so  I  continue  to  have  occa 
sional  coughing  paroxysms  as  a  proof  of  integrity." 

Here  he  sought  to  accentuate  his  sublime  motive ; 
and  Rose,  much  to  her  disgust,  became  a  loadstone 
about  which  was  wreathed  a  profusion  of  flowery 
rhetoric. 

Relapsing  into  his  every-day  style,  "Anybody 
but  }TOU,  Rose,"  he  complained,  "  would  be  touched 
by  such  faithfulness ;  but  I  suppose  you  will  only 
laugh.  After  all,  genius  consists  in  being  master 
of  your  own  situation,  not  of  some  other  fellow's. 
Even  a  Greek  hero  could  not  do  more  than  meet  the 
Greek  heroic  perils  in  his  Greek  heroic  path.  If  I 
had  been  Jacob,  I  might  have  distinguished  myself 
in  a  georgic  atmosphere,  serving  seven  years  among 
wells  and  fields,  flocks  and  herds.  As  a  mediaeval 
knight,  I  would  have  rescued  my  lady-love  from  the 
tyrant's  dungeon-keep.  My  life-conditions,  being 
modern  and  prosaic,  have  demanded  of  me  modern 


AUNT  SERENA.  147 

and  prosaic  action.  But  you  should  not  on  that 
account  undervalue  me,  Rose ;  for  you  alone  have 
been  my  inspiiation.  I  have  surmounted  all  obsta 
cles,  and  am  coming  straight  to  you." 

The  main  chronicle  continued  with  the  proud 
statement  that  the  strategic  feat  which  had  gained 
the  victory  was  worthy  of  a  Moltke.  It  was  simple, 
like  all  that  is  truly  great.  Harold  had  absented 
himself  continually  from  recitation.  He  had  disre 
garded  admonition  and  complaint.  He  conspicu 
ously  walked'  about  with  two  most  adventurous 
sophomores,  and  was  even  seen  with  them  the  night 
that  they  stole  a  worthy  farmer's  turkeys.  He  was 
proved  innocent  of  the  evil  deed ;  yet  was  repri 
manded  for  conduct  unbecoming  a  senior  abd  a 
gentleman,  and  received  the  rebuke  with  a  stolidity 
which  could  proceed  only  from  a  hardened  and 
depraved  nature.  The  professors,  who  knew  him 
well,  began  to  be  puzzled.  They  feared  his  moral 
plilegma  was  a  S3'mptom  of  brain-disease.  Several 
of  them  tried  to  influence  him,  but  still  he  per 
sistently  neglected  his  duties.  One  evening  Profes 
sor  Ross  —  "  a  very  good  fellow,"  Harold  deigned 
to  call  him  —  came  solemnly  to  his  room,  and  held  a 
long  dissertation.  He  lamented  his  young  friend's 
downward  course,  and  appealed  feelingly  to  his 
self-respect,  ambition,  and  honor.  Harold  listened 
with  heavy  indifference  as  long  as  possible,  then 
was  seized  with  uncontrollable  laughter. 

"Why,  my  honor's  all  right,"  he  stammered; 
"but  —  don't  you  see?  I  want  to  go  to  Europe." 


148  AUNT  SERENA. 

Professor  Ross  stared.  A  light  broke  over  his 
face.  He  was  young  himself.  The  two  sat  and 
looked  at  each  other.  "  Don't  say  any  more,  Thorn 
ton.  For  Heaven's  sake  don't  confide  in  me,  my 
dear  boy,"  he  said  solemnly.  After  a  pause,  "Arc 
you  going  to  graduate  tolerably  well  next  year, 
Thornton?" 

"  With  a  wreath  round  my  neck,  the  pet  lamb  of 
the  faculty.  This  year  I  am  going  to  Europe,"  was 
the  dogged  answer. 

Ross  laughed.  "I  believe  you,"  he  said,  shook 
hands  cordially  with  Harold,  and  went  out.  The 
next  week  he  received  the  reward  of  his  labors. 
He  was  suspended  for  six  months. 

"  Ross  is  the  very  best  fellow  I  ever  saw,"  coolly 
commented  the  unprincipled  youth.  "He  is  as 
humane  as  if  he  were  not  professor  of  mathematics 
and  one's  natural  enemy. 

The  closing  pages  seemed  to  shout  and  leap  for 
joy.  A  person  more  thoroughly  satisfied  with  his 
imperfect  self  than  Harold  Thornton  it  would  be 
difficult  to  imagine.  How  his  mother  was  inconsol 
able,  and  how  cleverly  he  reasoned  with  her ;  how 
he  reminded  her  she  had  said  he  might  travel  when 
he  had  left  college,  and  had  made  no  conditions  as 
to  the  manner  of  leaving ;  and  how  she  then  posi 
tively  declared  it  was  certainly  not  her  intention  to 
reward  his  disgraceful  conduct  by  giving  him  money 
enough  for  a  European  trip, — were  all  painted  in 
vivid  miniature.  Then  the  idea  which  illumined 
his  being  like  an  electric  light,  "  '  I  will  smite  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  149 

rock.  I  will  appeal  to  aunt  Harriet,'  was  the  stu 
pendous  thought  that  saved  me." 

He  rode  at  full  speed  to  Northbrooke.  He  told 
his  aunt  the  unvarnished  tale  of  his  misdeeds.  Ho 
sought  to  extenuate  neither  his  nefarious  consump 
tive  and  dyspeptic  designs,  nor  his  villanous  course 
at  the  university.  He  boldly  asked  her  to  lend  him 
the  money,  and  did  not  blush  to  name  a  large 
amount. 

"And  what  do  you  think?  "  he  continued  raptur 
ously.  "The  old  lady  came  down  with  it  like  a 
trump.  I  observed  several  grim,  shadowy  smiles 
during  my  ingenuous  recital,  and  once  a  gurgle  in  her 
throat  suggested  a  laugh  ;  but  she  sternly  choked  it 
into  a  cough,  and  it  did  not  dare  make  itself  heard 
again.  She  is  a  shadow  herself,  gray  as  a  wraith  in 
the  twilight,  and  hard  as  flint.  But  she  has  done 
the  handsome  thing  this  time.  Whether  she  enjoj's 
outwitting  the  others,  my  lady-mother  included, 
whether  she  has  somewhere  in  her  rugged  breast  a 
sneaking  fondness  for  me,  or  whether  she  has  a 
sympathetic  comprehension  of  my  desire  to  see  you, 
I  do  not  know ;  possibly  all  three.  But  I  am  sure 
she  is  hungering  for  you.  She  never  once  men 
tioned  your  name.  When  I  spoke  of  you,  she 
looked  with  a  cold,  fixed  gaze  out  of  the  window. 
Of  course  I  found  her  in  the  Den.  I  was  so  bold  as 
to  ask  her  if  she  saw  your  ghost  under  the  elms  :  to 
which  she  made  this  supremely  irrelevant  answer,  — 

"  '  Serena  Lennox  is  a  fool ; '  and  may  dear  aunt 
Serena  forgive  me  for  repeating  \his  blasphemy. 


150  AUNT  SERENA. 

Aunt  Harriet  has  aged  rapidly  since  you  saw  her. 
She  stitches  more,  and  grows  more  taciturn  each 
day.  What  a  ghastly  array  of  dreary  thoughts  she 
lias  stitched  into  those  interminable  seams !  I  was 
astonished  to  find  myself  watching  her  with  a  sensa 
tion  of  pity." 

Finding  he  had  gained  this  powerful  ally,  his 
mother,  he  said,  had  made  no  further  resistance. 
"  'It  is  useless  to  oppose  fate,'  she  exclaimed  with 
a  kind  of  classic  Greek-chorus  piety.  '  I  propose  — 
Harriet  disposes.' '  So  she  kissed  ard  forgave  her 
invincible  hero,  who  hazarded  the  opinion  that  she 
was  in  reality  glad  enough  to  let  him  go,  "  only  she 
doesn't  think  it  respectable  to  be  suspended ;  and, 
making  due  allowance  for  a  mother's  sensitiveness, 
I  don't  suppose  it  is  !  " 

Then  came  a  specimen  of  his  finest  writing,  in 
which  Rose  in  rapid  alternation  was  his  oasis,  his 
haven  of  rest,  and  his  heart's  flower.  After  which 
the  letter  concluded  solemnly  with,  — 

"Will  you  have  a  little  welcome  for  me,  Rose? 
Mine  is  indeed  no  boyish  fancy,  as  you  have  some 
times  thought.  You  must  at  last  concede  that  it  is 
not.  But  if  you  still  refuse  to  believe  in  me,  I  will 
try  to  be  patient.  The  years  that  shall  make  me 
mor3  of  a  man  shall  prove  the  strength  and  faithful 
ness  of  iny  devotion,  and  shall  help  me  win 
you." 

Miss  ^ennox  attentively  studied  this  highly  colored 
and  variegated  production  from  beginning  to  end. 
Some  passages  she  read  twice.  Then,  folding  it 


AUNT  SEEENA.  151 

carefully,  and  laying  it  upon  John's  dolorous  epistle, 
she  quietly  remarked,  — 

"  I  call  this  a  most  entertaining  mail." 

"To  go  to  such  extremes,"  began  Rose,  "to 
play  such  jokes  on  aunt  Lucy,  to  leave  college  his 
very  last  year,  and  then  to  declare  it  is  all  on  my 
account.  I  am  thoroughly  displeased  with  him. 
How  dares  he  call  me  such  names  ! ' '  She  stared 
helplessly  at  her  aunt. 

"He  is  very  much  attached  to  3rou,  my  dear." 
Miss  Lennox  looked  amused. 

"Of  coui'se  he  is.  But  I  have  no  patience  when 
he  is  loverish.  Perhaps  I  have  a  hard  heart,  aunt 
Serena,"  the  girl  said  with  much  seriousness  ;  "  but 
I  am  simply  incensed  when  he  writes  such  rhap 
sodies  about  me.  It  doesn't  sound  real,  and  it's 
ridiculous  ; ' '  and  Rose  helped  herself  to  bread  and 
butter. 

Miss  Lennox  smiled. 

"  After  all,  it's  only  Harold,"  Rose  went  on.  She 
took  up  the  condemned  missive,  and  re-read  parts  of 
it.  Her  amusement  swept  away  her  resentment. 
She  forgot  the  obnoxious  tenderness,  and  her  own 
heavy  responsibility  as  guiding-star,  loadstone,  and 
oasis,  haven  of  rest  and  heart's  flower  to  this  erratic 
young  man,  and  began  to  take  immense  delight  in 
his  roguery. 

"  How  he  must  have  enjoyed  it!  "  she  exclaimed 
in  great  glee,  full  of  comprehension  and  sympathy 
for  her  life-long  comrade.  "He  is  always  making 
some  sort  of  excitement.  I  suppose  it  is  his  nature. 


152  AUNT  SEEENA. 

He  has  been  very  absurd,  but  I  shall  be  delighted  to 
see  him,"  and  she  stirred  her  coffee  with  a  contented 
air.  "I  will  show  that  letter  to  Gertrude.  She 
will  appreciate  it.  Oh,"  she  exclaimed,  "  how  vex 
atious  !  I  cannot,  can  I,  aunt  Serena  ?  I  had  for 
gotten  the  silly  part.  Do  you  think  I  could  read  it 
to  her  and  skip  the  lovering  ?  ' ' 

"Perhaps  it  would  be  wiser  not  to  try.  Letters* 
rarely  speak  to  a  stranger  with  the  writer's  true 
voice.  They  frequently  have  a  rather  mischievous 
ventriloquism  in  them.  We  know  Harold,  and  his 
letter  does  not  deceive  us.  But  it  would  not  repre 
sent  him  fairly  to  Gertrude." 

"No,"  acquiesced  Rose.  "  She  would  think  him 
hopelessly  deranged,  and  the  dear  boy  really  does 
have  lucid  intervals.  And  then  there's  aunt  Harriet. 
She  is  a  great  tribulation.  But  then,"  laughing, 
"she  is  our  tribulation.  She  ought  not  to  be  re 
vealed  to  the  world." 

"  She  would  never  criticise  you,  or  even  me,  out 
of  her  own  family  ;  "  and  aunt  Serena  spoke  her  in 
dulgent  word  for  the  adversary.  "  She  is  an  unusual 
woman.  She  has  a  strong  character.  She  reminds 
me  of  several  famous  historical  figures." 

"  So  she  does  me,"  laughed  Rose.  "  But  it  would 
be  very  disrespectful  if  I  should  mention  which  ones. 
Of  course  it  does  not  occur  to  me  to  speak  freely  of 
either  aunt  Harriet  or  Harold,  except  to  Gertrude. 
But  I  confess  I  am  inclined  to  chatter  in  the  freest 
way  to  her.  There  is  something  very  sweet  in  Ger 
trude's  way  of  listening.  She  gives  one  that  long, 


AUNT  SERENA.  163 

grave  look,  then  suddenly  smiles  all  over  her  face. 
Did  you  not  notice  her  pretty  manner  with  Mr. 
Bruce?  I  know  he  liked  her ;  "  and  the  young  girl 
smiled  with  generous  delight. 

"  I  think  they  both  did.  Gertrude  is  very  attrac 
tive.  She  has  a  fine  simplicity.  She  may  come 
to-day  to  talk  with  me,  I  think.  Perhaps  that  's 
she,  dear,"  Miss  Lennox  added  as  she  heard  a 
knock.  Rose  sprang  up  eagerly,  with  outstretched 
hands,  and  met  Mrs.  Vivien. 

"  Good-morning,  dear  Miss  Wellesley.  You're 
looking  sunny  as  the  sunshine  this  beautiful  day," 
said  the  little  lady  sweetly.  "  Good-morning,  dear 
Miss  Lennox.  You  did  not  expect  so  early  a  visit, 
now,  did  you  ?  But  I  do  like  to  flit  freely  in  and  out 
of  my  friends'  homes  and  hearts.  You'll  very  soon 
see  through  poor  little  me,  I  fear.  I'm  not  very 
profound,  do  you  know?  I'm  only  a  harmless  little 
thing,  —  not  deep,  like  clever  Miss  Peyton."  And 
she  threw  up  her  eyes  as  if  language  could  not  por 
tray  the  depths  of  Miss  Peyton's  dark  and  inscruta 
ble  nature.  "  I'm  content  to  be  simply  affectionate. 
Mr.  Vivien  says  deep  women  are  dangerous  women. 
Give  him  an  affectionate  woman.  But  I  suppose 
you'll  think  that  is  only  a  fond  husband's  weak 
ness."  And  she  laughed  a  little,  pleased,  conscious 
laugh. 

"It  is  not  very  early,  Mrs.  Vivien,"  aunt  Serena 
answered  with  her  courteous  intonation  that  made 
even  an  unwelcome  guest  feel  well  cared  for.  ' '  Ro 
samond  and  I  are  indolent. ' '  A  slightly  puzzled 


154  AUNT  SERENA. 

look  appeared  in  her  brown  eyes,  a  very  brilliant 
flash  in  Rosamond's ;  and  the  girl  slipped  noise 
lessly  out  of  the  room. 

Mrs.  Vivien  had,  as  she  spoke,  drawn  a  low  chair 
near  Miss  Lennox,  and  seated  herself  with  a  gently 
familiar  air.  The  little  woman  was  as  tender  and 
youthful  as  a  pale  rose-colored  cashmere  morning 
toilet  could  make  her. 

"  I  have  come  to  sit  a  while  with  you,"  she  said. 
"I  have  brought  my  work."  And  she  produced 
some  knitting-needles  and  a  half-finished  coarse 
gray  stocking.  It  properly  belonged  to  her  supply 
of  ammunition  for  men.  At  a  critical  moment  this 
unaesthetic  object  had  often  wielded  a  potent  charm. 
"  She  must  be  sincere  if  she  knits  stockings  for  the 
poor,"  concluded  the  victim  who  had  survived  the 
beguiling  smiles  and  winning  voice,  and  half  sus 
pected  the  treachery  of  the  dark  eyes,  to  be  slain  at 
last  by  the  fatal  sophistry  of  the  stocking.  This 
one  was  now  eight  years  old.  She  had  never  yet 
completed  one,  but  occasionally,  when  travelling, 
had  left  one  by  accident  in  a  hotel,  and  then  was 
obliged  to  prepare  another.  She  was  never  without 
one.  She  rarely  resorted  to  her  knitting  in  the  pre 
sence  of  women ;  they  had  a  way  of  smiling  disa 
greeably  :  but  this  Miss  Lennox,  she  reasoned,  was 
not  like  other  women,  and  might  be  as  trusting  as 
a  great,  stupid,  dear  man.  In  this  Mrs.  Vivien 
erred. 

"  You  are  industrious,"  remarked  aunt  Serena. 

"It  is  for  the  poor,"  said  her  guest,  looking  up 


AUNT  SERENA.  155 

artlessly.  "  I  used  to  embroider  constantly  when  I 
was  a  girl.  But  Mr.  Vivien  likes  this  homely  virtue, 
and  then  I  really  prefer  to  feel  of  a  little  use  in  this 
great  busy  world.  There  is  not  much  I  can  do," 
she  added  with  cheerful  resignation,  "  because  of 
my  poor  chest." 

Aunt  Serena  heard  her  mention  Mr.  Vivien  and 
her  chest  with  some  surprise.  They  were,  with  the 
stocking,  Mrs.  Vivien's  best  weapons.  But  aunt 
Serena  was,  after  all,  a  woman  ;  and  they  could  not 
be  expected  to  have  their  full  effect  upon  her. 
"  She  is  not  as  trusting  as  a  man,"  quickly  decided 
the  astute  knitter,  and  began  to  speak  of  othei 
matters. 

"  There  is  something  I  do  so  want  to  say  to  you, 
Miss  Lennox,"  she  began  timidly. 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service,  Mrs.  Vivien." 

"  But  you  must  not  misunderstand.  It  hurts  me 
to  be  misunderstood."  She  laid  down  her  knitting, 
and  clasped  her  hands. 

"I  will  try  not  to  misunderstand,"  said  aunt 
Serena  gravely. 

"  It  is  about  Miss  Peyton." 

"Of  course  you  know  that  I  like  and  respect 
Miss  Peyton."  And  aunt  Serena  looked  steadily  at 
her  visitor. 

"  Oh,  yes,"  said  Mrs.  Vivien  fervently,  "I  know 
that  well,  and  am  so  glad  for  her !  I  wanted  to 
confess  to  you  that  I  have  been  instrumental  in 
gaining  a  little  pleasure  for  her,  and  it  ma}'  be  an 
influential  friend. ' ' 


156  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"You,  Mrs.  Vivien?"  said  aunt  Serena  thought 
fully. 

'-Yes,  I,  the  giddy  little  butterfly."  And  Mrs. 
Vivien  laughed  pleasantly.  "  I  know  you  think  me 
giddy,  and  no  wonder :  I  am  so  impulsive.  But, 
indeed,  I  haven't  a  bad  heart.  It  was  really  noth 
ing  to  do,"  she  added  modestly;  "for  I  had  the 
opportunity,  and  Mrs.  Raymond  and  I  are  most 
intimate.  I  merely  spoke  of  Miss  Peyton  to  her  in 
such  a  way  yesterday,  that  she  began  to  take  quite 
an  interest  in  the  young  girl." 

In  the  calm  depths  of  aunt  Serena's  most  charita 
ble  soul  had  reposed  a  passive  disapproval  of  Mrs. 
Vivien.  But  the  kind  old  lady's  opinion  of  so  much 
flippant  malice,  aifectation,  and  other  obnoxious 
qualities,  had  never  sought  expression,  or,  indeed, 
crystallized  itself  within  her  consciousness.  Now 
she  was  filled  with  generous  self-reproach.  "I  have 
been  unjust,"  she  thought,  her  past  indistinct,  float 
ing  impressions  assuming  weight  and  stability  in 
contrast  to  so  much  positive  goodness  as  she  now 
recognized  in  her  guest. 

"That  was  kind,"  she  hastened  to  say  with  tender 
emphasis  and  a  gracious  warmth  she  had  not  before 
bestowed  upon  Mrs.  Vivien.  "Allow  me  to  say 
that  I  am  personally  grateful  to  you,  since  I  have  a 
special  regard  for  Miss  Peyton.  I  noticed  3'esterday 
that  Mrs.  Raymond  was  pointedly  cordial  to  her. 
I  take  great  pleasure  ' '  —  and  aunt  Serena  spoke 
with  gentle  formality,  her  conscience  demanding  an 
explicit  recognition  of  the  virtuous  deed  —  "in 


AUNT  SERENA.  157 

thanking  you  for  it."  She  was  smiling  with  her 
fine,  honest  lips,  and  with  her  eyes,  that  seemed  to 
grow  larger  and  browner  with  their  clear  look  of 
approval ;  and  she  extended  her  hand,  —  the  fair, 
frail  hand  of  an  aged  gentlewoman. 

Mrs.  Vivien  took  it ;  and,  what  is  more,  she  took  it 
without  compunction.  Had  she  been  the  villain  in 
a  model  story,  she  would  have  been  touched,  either 
by  aunt  Serena's  generous  confidence,  or  by  her 
gray  hair.  But  Mrs.  Vivien  was  not  that  kind  of  a 
villain.  She  merely  obeyed  the  instincts  of  her 
nature,  in  which  was  reverence  for  nothing  what 
ever,  and  with  a  pretty,  deprecating  air,  replied,  — 

"  Indeed,  it  was  nothing.  I  did  not  say  very 
much,  I  assure  you.  Mrs.  Raymond  only  needed  to 
have  her  attention  turned  properly  in  the  right  di 
rection.  She  is  a  woman  of  the  world,  you  know, 
and"  — 

"But  not  a  worldly  woman,  I  think,"  was  Miss 
Lennox's  mild  interruption. 

"Oh,  by  no  means!"  returned  the  pretty  little 
knitter.  "  I  was  merely  going  to  say  she  had  heard 
these  unfortunate  stories  about  Miss  Peyton ;  and, 
while  holding  herself  neutral  enough,  she  would 
naturally  not  go  out  of  her  way  to  refute  them, 
unless  solicited." 

"  Of  course  not,"  aunt  Serena  admitted  cheerily. 
"That  I  understand,  and  so  it  was  kind  of  you  to 
speak  a  friendly  word  for  Gertrude.  Not  that  I 
consider  Miss  Peyton  a  person  who  is  in  want  of 
much  support.  She  is  a  strong,  self-reliant  char- 


158  AUNT  SERENA. 

acter,  and  could  take  care  of  all  of  us.  But  she  is 
very  young,  and  a  hard  worker,  and  needs  enlivening 
influences.  A  little  society  would  be  an  excellent 
thing  for  her ;  and  Mrs.  Raymond  is  a  charming 
woman,  capable  of  appreciating  Miss  Peyton,  whom 
I  consider  a  very  remarkable  girl  for  her  age.' ' 

Mrs.  Vivien  dropped  a  stitch.  She  often  dropped 
stitches  in  her  best  work,  just  as  it  was  approaching 
completion. 

It  was  a  weakness  in  this  adroit  tactician  that 
she  was  apt  to  be  confused  when  she  heard  the 
enemy  praised.  A  cloud  of  jealous  resentment 
would  suddenly  obscure  her  faculties,  and  lead  her 
from  the  path  which  she  had  chosen  in  the  clear, 
hard  light  of  her  brilliant  malice.  She  had  come 
this  morning  with  weU-digested  schemes,  and  de 
sired  to  lead  up  slowly,  feeling  her  ground,  to  a 
position  which  she  hoped  would  command  the  whole 
field.  Now  she  made  her  approach  with  indiscreet 
haste. 

"  What  I  have  done  has  been  with  the  best  inten 
tions  ;  and  Mrs.  Raymond,  a  married  woman,  in  her 
secure  position  is,  of  course,  invulnerable  ;  so  my 
conscience  is  at  rest  on  that  point :  but  I  am,  I  con 
fess,  a  little  uneasy  on  Miss  Wellesley's  account." 

Aunt  Serena  looked  intently  at  her.  The  brig  lit 
needles  in  the  little  lady's  white  hands  flashed  above 
the  rosy  gown.  .  Her  eyelids  were  meekly  cast  down. 
The  ball  of  gray  yarn  had  rolled  far  off  on  the  pol 
ished  floor. 

"  I  trust  that  it  is  not  any  doubt  of  the  security 


AUNT  SERENA.  159 

of  Miss  "Wellesley 's  position  that  causes  your  uneasi 
ness,"  remarked  aunt  Serena  slowly  with  gentle 
stateliness.  It  was  her  habit  to  speak  of  Rose  as 
"my  niece  Rosamond,"  often  simply  as  "Rosa 
mond."  Her  "  Miss  "Wellesley  "  was  eloquent. 

"You  misunderstand,  Miss  Lennox."  In  the 
tone  was  a  saintly  patience. 

"  I  am  sure  I  must  have  misunderstood.  I  beg 
your  pardon  ;  "  and  aunt  Serena's  kind  smile  sought 
to  rectify  the  error. 

There  was  a  brief  pause. 

"It  is  strange,"  reflected  the  busy  brain  behind 
the  meek  white  eyelids,  "  that  one  goes  thus  far  and 
no  farther  with  this  dull  old  woman." 

"  Miss  Lennox,  you  misunderstand,  because  I 
am  actuated  solely  by  a  desire  to  protect  Miss 
Wellesley  from  what  can  hardly  be  a  desirable  influ 
ence.  You  see  for  yourself.  I  feel  most  kindly 
towards  Miss  Peyton.  I  have  done  for  her  what  lay 
in  my  power.  But  that  does  not  imply  that  I  ap 
prove  of  all  that  she  does,  or  that  I  should  be  silent 
when  I  feel  that  I  ought  to  speak,  does  it?  " 

Aunt  Serena  thought  of  Gertrude's  simple, 
straightforward  manner  and  brave  young  eyes,  and 
listened  quietly. 

Mrs.  Vivien  was  encouraged  by  her  silence. 

"  You  once  used  an  apt  and  beautiful  expression, 
dear  Miss  Lennox,  which  has  lingered  in  uy  memory. 
'  Any  thing  that  could  really  stain  the  white  soul 
within  her,'  }*ou  said  the  day  we  had  that  most  In 
structive  conversation." 


160  AUNT  SERENA. 

Aunt  Serena  bowed  gravely. 

u  Now,  do  you  think  it  would  stain  the  white  soul 
within  a  girl,"  and  Mrs.  Vivien's  voice  sank  to  its 
most  caressing  cadence,  "  to  have  a  rendezvous 
with  a  man,  after  midnight,  on  a  stairwa}-  in  utter 
darkness?  and  if  I  can  solemnly  affirm  this  to  be 
true  of  Miss  Peyton,  ought  I  to  conceal  it  from  you, 
and  allow,  even  tacitly  approve  of,  her  intimacy  with 
your  niece  ? ' ' 

In  all  the  sweet  jrears  of  aunt  Serena's  life  she 
had  never  before  looked  a  woman  in  the  face  and 
doubted  her  word. 

"Mrs.  Vivien,"  she  began  slowly,  with  an  in 
scrutable  look  on  her  fine  old  face,  — 

In  the  corridor  sang  a  clear  voice,  — 

"  God's  in  his  heaven  — 
All's  right  with  the  world!" 

"  Pippa  passes  at  the  right  moment,"  thought 
aunt  Serena. 

"  Mrs.  Vivien,"  she  began  again, — both  ladies 
had  risen,  —  "I  am  at  a  loss  "  — 

("  May  Sindbad  the  Sailor  come  in?  "  asked  Ger 
trude  at  the  door.  The  girl  took  one  step  forward, 
and  stood  motionless.) 

—  "to  understand,"  continued  Miss  Lennox, 
walking  toward  Gertrude,  and  kissing  her  on  both 
cheeks,  "  why  you  should  care  to  take  so  much 
trouble." 

Mrs.  Vivien  stooped,  picked  up  her  ball  of  gray 
yarn,  and  went  out. 


AUNT  SERENA.  161 


CHAPTER  XH. 

"  And  he  set  at  all  the  brazen  doors 
A  doubled  guard. 

Yet  who  shall  shut  ou:  Fate  ?  " 
EDWIN  ARNOLD. 

• 

"  Great  gifts  can  be  given  by  little  hands, 
Since  of  all  gifts  love  is  still  the  best." 

ADELAIDE  PKOCTEE. 

DEER-UNKEL-CID 

I  -  AM  -  GOOD  -AND-  QUYIT  -.  PLEAS  -  TAK  -  THE- 
KARS  -  AND  -  TAK  -  THE  -  BOTE  -  AND  -  KUM  -  OVER- 
AND -PLAY- WITH -ME -THIS -IS- MAM  MAS -PRITTY- 
GOLD -PEN. 

FROM  -  YOUR- AFFEKSHUNITE-  NEES 

EDITH  -  BRUCE-  RAYMOND- 


DEER  -  UNKEL-CID- AN-THAY-WER" 
YEER-AN-A-DAY.  VlT'^ 

KUM-OVER-AN-I-WIL-TEL-YOU-AB° 
FROM -YORE-AFEKSHUNIT- NEES-  Q^^° 

MARJOR1E-BRUCE- 

These  imperfect  but  candid  and  characteristic 
effusions  were  strong  links  in  the  chain  of  events 
which  had  led  Sydney  Bruce  to  Wynburg.  There 
were,  in  fact,  two  chains.  Or  was  it  one  long, 


162  AUNT  SERENA. 

solemn  one,  beginning  with  the  beginning  of  all 
things?  Not  to  strain  our  myopic  vision  by  peer 
ing  into  dim  vistas  of  the  past,  let  us  content 
ourselves  with  a  glance  at  the  two  distinct  short 
chains,  one  of  which  began  in  Wynburg  in  the 
pleasant  month  of  June.  Did  it  begin  with  Mrs. 
Raymond's  faithful  Elise?  Or  with  the  summer 
journey?  Or  did  Edith's  superfluous  energy  create 
the  point  of  departure?  Or  was  it  the  gold  pen? 
Or  little  Marjorie's  sweet  spirit,  lost  in  fairy  lore, 
and  sending  its  dazed,  loving  greeting  from  the 
enchanted  land  of  its  wanderings? 

These  are  the  facts.  The  day  before  the  Ray 
mond  family  was  to  start  for  Ostende,  Elise  had  a 
blinding  headache.  Now,  Elise  was  a  superior  per 
son,  who  had  never  before  been  known  to  allow  a 
paltry  physical  limitation  to  restrict  the  admirable 
execution  of  her  duties  ;  and  she  always  packed  her 
mistress's  trunks  with  a  system  approaching  perfec 
tion.  It  was  perfection,  the  family  thought:  but 
with  a  touch  of  the  unconscious  superstition  which 
prevails  among  rude,  and  is  rarely  quite  absent 
from  fine,  folk,  Mrs.  Raymond  never  dared  say  how 
perfectly  perfect  her  Elise  was.  dreading  the  jealous 
wrath  of  the  immortals  ;  or,  in  more  rational  and 
(ess  pagan  language,  as  the  lady  herself  would  have 
expressed  it,  for  fear  that  something  would  happen. 
Years  of  Elise  had  rendered  Mrs.  Raymond  more 
helpless  than  she  otherwise  would  have  been  before 
yawning  leather  caverns,  mountain -ranges  of  linen, 
unexplored  tracts  of  little  boots  aud  toys,  and  rich 


AUNT  SERENA.  163 

acres  of  French  toilettes.  Elise  he;:self  was  in 
despair.  She  could  not  be  induced  to  retire  from 
the  scene  of  action,  but  clung  to  a  sofa  in  her  mis 
tress's  dressing-room,  and,  with  tears  of  shame  and 
contrition,  confessed  to  the  upper  housemaid,  upon 
whom  her  duties  had  fallen,  that  she  could  scarcely 
distinguish  the  difference  between  Mr.  Raymond's 
shirts  and  baby  Percy's  socks,  that  the  sight  of  aL 
the  many-colored  stockings  was  enough  to  craze 
her,  —  and  really  the  children  seemed  to  have  more 
legs  than  usual  to-day, — and  as  to  folding  a  ribbon, 
she  was  as  helpless  as  a  fly,  she  sobbed.  But  she 
nobly  remained  at  her  post ;  and  a  word,  feeble  in 
utterance,  yet  mighty  with  genius,  would  often  at 
a  critical  moment  avert  a  catastrophe  in  the  gigan 
tic  complications  of  the  work  of  distribution. 

Mrs.  Raymond  was  sorry  for  her  maid  and  sorry 
for  herself.  She  was  also  somewhat  appalled  at 
the  situation,  but  she  had  the  praiseworthy  habit 
of  never  losing  her  equanimity. 

"Bring  every  thing  in,  Anna,"  she  said,  "and 
begin  with  the  children's  ordinary  clothes  for  the 
beach.  I  will  come  directly,  as  soon  as  I  have 
finished  this  letter." 

In  the  mean  time,  Edith  and  Marjorie,  who  usu 
ally  delighted  to  "help  pack,"  were  banished,  that 
they  might  not  intensify  the  chaotic  element  which 
they  loved,  or  increase  Elise's  miseiy.  Dreamy 
Marjorie  sat  on  the  floor,  and  read  "  The  Sleeping 
Beauty  in  the  Wood."  Life  had  at  this  moment 
nothing  more  to  offer  her.  But  Edith  was  of  a 


164  AUNT  SERENA. 

different  temperament.  It  cost  her  an  effort  to  be 
still  while  mamma  wrote.  Her  toys  were  up  staira 
where  she  must  not  go.  She  could  not  read  the 
same  thing  a  hundred  times  like  Marjorie,  she 
thought  with  some  impatience.  She  threw  down 
her  book,  and  looked  out  of  the  window.  It  was  a 
quiet  street,  and  nobody  was  passing.  She  watched 
her  pretty  mamma,  and  the  rings  flashing  on  the 
white  hand  flying  over  the  paper.  She  came  slowly 
to  the  table  and  stood  still. 

"  Mamma,  when  may  I  have  a  gold  pen?  " 

"  I  will  give  you  one  as  soon  as  you  learn  to 
write,"  said  Mrs.  Raymond,  smiling. 

"  Will  it  go  as  fast  as  yours?  " 

"Yes,  dear,  sometime.  When  you  know  how  to 
use  it." 

A  pause.     Then,  — 

"  Mamma,  when  may  I  have  a  monogram?  " 

"Edith,  dear,  don't  talk  to  mamma  now.  Take 
your  book,  like  Marjorie." 

The  little  girl  obeyed.  Presently  she  came  steal 
ing  up  to  her  mother. 

"  Mamma,  I  don't  like  it,  you  know,  because  it 
isn't  true.  If  Snow  White  lay  there  so  long  with 
the  little  dwarfs  watching,  she  must  have  been 
hungry  ;  and  a  little,  wee,  tiny  bit  of  a  small  piece 
of  apple  couldn't  have  made  her  all  dead  and  then 
all  alive  again.  Besides,  I  know  it  beforehand, 
because  I  read  it  when  I  was  little,  —  no  bigger 
than  Marjorie." 

' '  O  Edith ! ' '  cried  a  reproachful  voice  from  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  165 

floor,  "it  could  have  killed  her,  —  in  fairy-land; 
and  its  true,  —  in  fairy -land." 

"  Marjorie,"  said  Edith  with  dignity,  "  you  are  a 
very  little  girl."  Marjorie  happened  to  be  sixteen 
months  younger  than  her  sister.  "  Mamma,  are 
you  telling  uncle  Cid  that  I  am  going  to  make  sand- 
pies  all  day  long  at  Ostende  ? ' ' 

"  I  will  try  to  remember  it,  dear." 

"  Mamma,  will  uncle  Cid  come  soon?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  if  you  are  very  good  and  quiet  until 
mamma  finishes  her  letter,"  answered  Mrs.  Ray 
mond  somewhat  absently,  and  with  the  peculiar  logic 
which  busy  mothers  are  apt  to  instil  into  the  brains 
of  loquacious  children. 

At  this  moment  she  was  given  to  understand  that 
her  presence  up  stairs  would  be  a  priceless  boon,  and 
quickly  left  the  room. 

Edith  promptly  took  her  mamma's  chair,  and 
grasped  her  mamma's  pen,  to  which  Mrs.  Ray 
mond's  attachment  resembled  idolatry.  "  Burn 
my  India  shawl,  drop  indelible  ink  on  my  finest 
lace,  shatter  my  best  china,  and  sit  on  my  last  Paris 
hat,  if  you  will,"  she  had  once  remarked  to  her 
husband,  "  but,  Henry,  —  an'  you  love  me,  —  never 
touch  my  pen  ! ' ' 

"How  nice  every  thing  is  up  here,"  thought 
Edith,  complacently  dangling  her  short  legs.  "  Mar 
jorie,"  she  called  blithely,  "  see  me  write  a  grown-up 
letter."  And,  beginning  where  Mrs.  Raymond's 
elegant  handwriting  had  ended  in  the  middle  of  a 
felicitous  expression,  the  child  pursed  up  her  mouth, 


166  AUNT  SERENA. 

and  proudly  formed  her  hieroglyphics.  The  Ray 
mond  children's  education,  not  as  yet  forced,  had 
made  them  quite  competent  to  print  their  original 
phonetic  spelling  equally  well  in  English,  French, 
and  German. 

After  a  while  she  said,  with  an  important  air, 
"  Marjorie,  I  have  invited  uncle  Cid  to  make  us  a 
visit.  I  think  it  would  be  polite  if  jx>u  should  put 
down  that  silly  fairy-book,  and  write  him  a  letter 
too.  You  needn't  write  much,  because  you  are 
little.  And  then,  you  might  hurt  mamma's  pretty 
gold  pen." 

The  adored  pen  had  already  its  right  point  well 
tipped  up.  It  was  now  about  to  undergo  a  similar 
deforming  process  on  its  left  one. 

Thus  grandly  invoked,  Marjorie,  nothing  loath, 
also  climbs  to  the  seat  of  honor.  She  loved  her 
uncle  Cid,  and  was  his  special  pet  among  his  sister's 
children.  According  to  her  baby  inspiration,  she, 
too,  wrote. 

Edith  looked  critically  at  the  result. 

"It  is  very  crooked,"  commented  the  lofty  older 
sister,  "  and  it  is  not  sense ;  and  they  spell  affec 
tionate  with  two  f 's,  as  I  did,  Marjorie.  But  never 
mind,  uncle  Cid  will  excuse  it." 

Mrs.  Raymond  returned  several  hours  later,  to 
hurriedly  close  her  letter  with,  — 

"More  next  week,  from  Ostende,  dear  Sydney. 
The  children  have,  as  you  see,  spoiled  my  sheet, 
and,  as  I  see,  nearly  annihilated  my  precious  pen : 
but  I  have  no  time  to  re-write  any  thing ;  so  take, 


AUNT  SERENA.  167 

with  dearest  love  from  all,  the  combined  efforts  of 
the  family." 

When  the  letter  reached  uncle  Cid,  however,  he 
neither  regarded  it  as  spoiled,  nor  did  he  find 
Marjorie's  missive  open  in  the  faintest  degree  to 
criticism.  It  seemed  to  him,  then,  a  delectable 
epistle.  And  all  his  after-life  he  blessed  the 
chubby,  dimpled  hand  that  had  reached  out  from 
fairy-land  to  draw  him  in. 

The  chain  of  circumstances  on  his  side  of  the 
Atlantic  was  also  formed  of  apparently  trivial 
incidents.  If  Sydney  Bruce's  friend  Carroll's 
yacht,  "  West  Wind,"  had  not  needed  to  lie  by 
for  repairs  of  her  machinery,  Bruce  would  have 
been  off  on  a  six  weeks'  cruise  at  the  tune  of  the 
arrival  of  the  Wynburg  letter ;  and,  in  the  jocund 
mood  caused  by  the  sea  and  good  company,  it  is 
possible  that  even  Marjorie  would  not  have  touched 
his  heart.  But  the  "  West  Wind  "  broke  her  shaft, 
and  Mr.  Carroll  was  obliged  to  implore  his  friends 
to  have  patience.  While  indefinitely  waiting,  Bruce 
went  up  to  Maine  to  see  an  old  friend,  and  settle 
some  business  affairs  of  long  standing.  Returning 
to  the  city,  it  seemed  hot  and  dull.  He  had  caught 
glimpses,  as  one  sometimes  does  on  what  one  begins 
as  an  arid  and  a  prosaic  journey,  of  much  that 
seemed  to  him  cool  and  fresh  and  beautiful  in  re 
membrance.  He  was  a  city  man,  and  liked  city 
life.  "I  hate  the  city,"  he  began  inconsequently 
to  say  to  himself.  "I  wish  I  were  a  wild  creature 
of  the  woods.  From  May  till  November  the  city  is 


168  AUNT  SERENA. 

an  abomination."  The  fatal  "West  Wind"  still 
delayed.  Bruce  went  down  to  his  office  mornings, 
and  mechanically  attended  to  a  little  business. 
"Whj-  did  I,  being  a  sane  man,  ever  choose  the 
law?"  he  thought.  "Why  am  I  not  a  sheep- 
farmer,  a  hunter,  a  trapper-guide?" 

One  day  his  senior  partner,  a  jovial  gentleman, 
who  had  also  been  Sydney's  father's  senior  partner, 
and  was  still  hale  and  robust  as  the  patriarchs  of 
old,  stared,  not  unkindly,  at  the  young  man,  and 
said,  — 

"  Bruce,  why  are  you  not  off  somewhere?  " 

"  I  know  no  place  where  I  really  wish  to  be," 
Sydney  answered. 

"  I  thought  you  were  going  yachting." 

"  The  '  West  Wind '  has  broken  her  shaft." 

"  Try  some  other  boat." 

"  I  prefer  Carroll's  party." 

"  Please  yourself,  my  dear  boy,  but  don't  forget 
that  you  are  still  a  young  man,  though  the  most 
pose  man  of  your  age  I  know,"  he  went  on  quizzi 
cally.  "  Have  you  no  longings?  Don't  3*011  want  to 
run  down  to  the  beach,  and  have  a  flirtation  or  two  ? ' ' 

"No,"  replied  Sydney,  with  a  positiveness  that 
made  the  older  gentleman  smile. 

"It  is  true,  your  experience  has  been  compre 
hensive,  and  it  maybe  sufficient,"  continued  Mr. 
Lawrence,  looking  at  him  with  a  reflective  air. 
"  Bruce,  you  don't  mind  any  thing  I  say,  of  course. 
I  speak  as  your  father  might  have  spoken.  Why 
don't  you  marry?  " 


AUNT  SEEENA.  169 

Bruce  smiled.  If  I  answer  you  as  I  should  most 
men,  I  should  say,  because  I  do  not  choose.  If 
without  reserve,  because  I  am  not  in  love." 

"That's  a  pretty  way  to  tell  an  old  friend  It's 
none  of  his  business,"  chuckled  the  old  gentleman. 

"As  to  that,  Lawrence,  it's  your  business  fairly 
enough,  provided  you  care  to  interest  yourself  in  so 
vague  and  unimportant  a  topic,"  Bruce  rejoined 
indifferently. 

Late  that  night  he  sat  alone  in  his  own  house. 
It  was  incredibly  dreary.  Even  the  servants  as 
they  moved  about  seemed  oppressed  with  preter 
natural  gloom. 

"It  is  the  city  in  July  that  gives  everybody  the 
blues,"  he  reflected.  "I  might  have  staid  a  few 
days  in  Northbrooke.  It  was  green  and  cool  and 
shady  up  there.  Stretched  at  full  length  on  his 
back  in  the  woods,  a  man  forgets  to  ask,  Is  life 
worth  living?  And  if  he  is  such  a  fool  as  to  ask, 
Nature's  answer  is  conclusive.  Yet  the  lovely  little 
girl  cried.  Sorrow  pursued  her,  even  in  that  Ar 
cadia.  I  wonder  now  what  was  the  matter  with 
her.  If  I  knew  the  A  and  the  Z  of  the  little  maid's 
distress,  I  should  find  it  dull  enough,  no  doubt. 
But  as  something  isolated,  fragmentary,  enigmat 
ical,  she  has  roused  speculation  in  my  languid  and 
selfish  soul ;  and  I  have  thought  of  her  at  least  three 
times  in  one  week,  which  honor,  small  as  it  is,  is 
one  which  no  other  woman  can  claim  at  present. 
To  be  sure,  there  was  novelty  in  the  incident.  I 
never  before  happened  to  see  a  girl  with  both  arms 


170  AUNT  SERENA. 

round  a  horse's  neck;"  and  he  smiled,  as  if  the 
recollection  was  not  upon  the  whole  displeas 
ing. 

"Lawrence  is  right.  I  am  old,  —  older  than  a 
man  has  any  right  to  be,"  he  thought  with  a  certain 
fierce  disgust,  and  glared  cynically  at  the  pursuing 
eyes  of  a  portrait  on  the  wall.  It  was  he  himself,  — 
ten  years  old,  in  a  sailor  suit  and  a  crimson  neck 
tie  with  gayly  floating  ends  ;  a  little  lad  with  stead 
fast  eyes,  bold  and  brave  in  mien,  the  small, 
haughty  head  thrown  back.  "Man,"  asked  the 
grave  eyes  of  the  child,  "  what  hast  thou  done  with 
the  years?  They  are  mine  as  thine."  And  Syd 
ney's  spirit  humbly  made  response,  "Little  good; 
little  good,  if  little  evil." 

By  his  own  small  self  was  his  sister  Florence, 
dainty  and  smiling,  all  in  happy  blue,  a  loose,  long 
garland  of  honeysuckle  in  her  soft  hands,  one  end 
trailing  on  the  ground.  He  smiled.  The  picture 
had  proved  prophetic.  "  Little  Florence  !  She  has 
always  had.  her  garlands,  and  known  how  to  wear 
them ;  and  at  her  life-banquet  is  the  exquisite  honey 
of  Hymettus."  He  remembered  his  father's  pride 
in  the  portraits,  and  how  he  had  them  hung  in  the 
library  where  they  would  be  near  him.  "That  is 
right,  Syd,"  he  had  said  heartily.  "  That  is  the  way 
a  brave  lad  looks, — straight  in  the  great  world's 
face.  While  you  are  on  guard,  little  Folh  acre 
may  play  with  her  posies  in  security."  Folly  had 
had  her  posies,  and  he  had  been  on  guard  ;  but  he 
had  scarcely  done  much  else.  At  least,  so  it  seemed 


AUNT  SEEENA.  171 

to  him  this  evening.  As  he  had  said,  it  was  the 
city  in  July. 

A  servant  brought  in  the  late  mail.  The  letters 
lay  several  minutes  on  the  table  beside  him  un 
heeded.  He  was  in  that  mood  when  a  man  would 
neglect  a  sacred  duty  for  the  engrossing  pleasure 
of  analyzing  and  condemning  himself.  Yet  what 
we  call  the  ' '  destinies ' '  of  many  souls  lay  in  that 
patient  little  white  heap ;  and  it  was  so  instinct 
with  the  ardent  life-spirit  of  its  writers,  it  was  a 
wonder  that  it  retained  its  position,  one  envelope 
soberly  placed  upon  the  other,  the  largest  —  from 
Wynburg  —  underneath,  instead  of  resolving  into 
its  elements,  and  flying  madly  about  his  handsome, 
indifferent  head. 

Every  man  has  one  curious,  inveterate  habit. 
Sj'dney  Bruce 's  was  to  read  letters  exactly  as  they 
came,  without  studying  superscriptions,  seeking  the 
sweet,  or  shunning  the  bitter. 

He  opened  the  first  letter.  It  was  a  jocose  scrawl 
from  Carroll,  reporting  progress  on  the  "West 
Wind."  That  gentleman  was  obviously  determined 
to  keep  his  friends  within  reach,  and  himself  a  re 
membrance,  that  the  feast  of  the  gods  might  still  be 
celebrated.  "  Fickle,  coy  '  West  Wind,'  to  keep  so 
many  eager  souls  in  suspense,"  thought  Sydne}7, 
and  read  his  next  letter,  which  was  a  cordial  invi 
tation  to  Newport.  "You  shall  be  free  as  air," 
wrote  the  lady — an  old  family  friend  —  from  her 
cottage.  "Jack  says  he  will  not  even  presume  to 
suggest  that  you  smoke  a  cigar  with  him.  Only 


172  AUNT  SERENA. 

come,  and  make  us  all  happy."  —  "  She  is  kind,  and 
she  means  it ;  but,  nevertheless,  I  should  not  be 
free.  I  am  too  selfish  to  go."  He  glanced  at  the 
next  epistle  coldly.  It  was  also  an  invitation,  this 
tune  to  Long  Branch,  from  a  fashionable  woman 
who  liked  to  fill  her  house  with  agreeable  guests. 
The  fatuity  with  which  vulgar  people,  who  wish  to 
appear  intimate  with  one,  rush  upon  ground  where 
angels  and  familiar  friends  fear  to  tread,  caused  her 
to  put  in  her  list  of  attractions,  "Eleanor  Vaughn 
is  here,  as  beautiful  as  ever."  Whatever  further 
revelations  the  letter  contained  he  spared  himself 
by  dropping  it  unread  into  his  waste-basket.  Then 
came  two  stout  envelopes  full  of  unmitigated  busi 
ness.  He  read  them  with  a  sense  of  relief.  The 
sixth  he  took  up  carelessly,  then  gazed  at  it  as  if 
it  were  the  head  of  Medusa  instead  of  an  elegant, 
jasmine-scented  missive,  artistic  as  to  its  monogram 
and  subtle  as  to  its  suggestions. 

"  This  was  needed  to-night,"  he  muttered  grimly. 
It  was  a  torrid  letter ;  but  he  turned  the  closely  writ 
ten  pages  with  impenetrable  coldness,  and  read  only 
the  last  line,  — 

"  Be  pitiful,  Sydney,  be  pitiful,  and  let  me  ex 
plain." 

' '  Let  you  explain !  Ye  gods  !  She  wishes  to 
explain  !  "  and  he  laughed  aloud  in  the  silent  house, 
until  Bates  hurried  in  with  a  startled  face. 

"  Did  you  wish  any  thing,  sir?  " 

"Nothing,  Bates.  Nothing  whatever.  I  was 
merely  laughing  at  a  most  excellent  joke." 


AUNT  SERENA.  173 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bates  stolidly,  and  with 
drew. 

Sydney  devoted  a  few  moments  to  the  somewhat 
sardonic  consideration  of  the  infinite  faith  a,  faithless 
woman  expects  to  find  in  the  heart  of  a  man. 

He  opened  his  sister's  epistle  with  kindly  interest. 
Mrs.  Raymond  wrote  a  delightful  letter,  healthy, 
clear,  never  self-conscious,  never  too  long,  dainty 
in  garb,  and  vivacious  in  expression.  She  told  her 
brother  their  plans  for  the  summer,  and  as  usual 
affectionately  begged  him  to  join  them,  without,  how 
ever,  the  least  expectation  that  he  would  come. 
Nor  had  he  as  he  read.  Then  the  children's  master 
pieces  met  his  eye.  He  received  Edith's  invitation 
with  an  indulgent  smile.  "  She  is  like  her  mamma. 
She  knows  about  trains  and  steamships."  But  when 
he  saw  poor  little  Marjorie's  greeting,  his  face  grew 
strangely  moved  and  tender.  "Blessed  infant!  I 
can  see  her  coming  from  her  fairy  tangles,  —  rubbing 
her  sweet  eyes  as  if  but  half  awake,  —  to  do  this 
righteous  deed  for  me,  —  a  sinner."  And  the  queer, 
awkward  scrawl  that  said  so  little  and  so  much, 
seemed  as  harmonious  to  him  as  any  other  beautiful 
song  without  words,  and  as  loving  as  the  touch  of 
Marjorie's  shy,  rose-leaf  palm  on  his  brow. 

' '  And  was  ever  anybody  happy  a  year  and  a  day  ? 
And  w:ll  you  tell  me  about  it,  sweetheart?  And 
you  spell  it  liaappy,  with  two  a's,  you  dear,  delicious 
inite.  That  must  be  a  broad,  strong  current  of 
happiness  where  you  sail.  I  will  come  over,  Mar- 
jorie,  and  sit  at  your  feet.  I  am  as  old  as  Ihe  hills, 


174  AUNT  SERENA. 

wise  little  Marjorie.  You  shall  lead  me  to  the  foun 
tain  of  youth." 

Then  he  wrote  a  kind  letter  to  his  friend  at  New 
port,  saying  he  was  about  to  join  Mrs.  Raymond  at 
Ostende,  sent  a  cool,  civil  regret  to  Long  Branch, 
and  pacified  Carroll  as  best  he  could.  The  next 
morning  he  said  to  Mr.  Lawrence,  — 

"I'm  going  to  take  your  advice.  I'm  going 
away." 

"  Excellent.  You  are  going  to  run  down  to  the 
beach?" 

"  To  a  beach ;  yes .     To  Ostende . ' ' 

"Ah!  Well,  why  not?  But  stay  over  there, 
Bruce.  Don't  come  flying  home  by  the  return 
steamer.  We'll  cable  if  we  want  you.  Perhaps 
George  and  I  will  be  granted  wisdom  enough  to 
conduct  the  office  a  month  or  two,"  said  the  old 
gentleman  modestly.  "  What  do  you  sa}r,  George  ?  " 

' '  Lawyers  threatened  with  softening  of  the  brain 
all  flee  to  Europe,"  remarked  Mr.  George  Lawrence. 
"  Any  danger  for  Sydney?  " 

"  No  one  will  suspect  it,"  replied  the  old  gentle 
man.  "  He  has  never  worked  hard  enough." 

Sydney  smiled.  "  There  was  no  necessity.  Your 
laurels  and  my  father's  have  fallen  on  my  undeserv 
ing  brow." 

"  'Hm  !  You'd  better  go  to  Europe  with  your  un 
deserving  brow,"  returned  Lawrence  dryly.  "  And 
take  time  over  there  to  grow  young.  We  want 
youths  in  this  office.  We  have  octogenarians  enough. 
Do  you  hear?" 


AUNT  SERENA.  175 

And  Bruce  went  to  Europe.  Unconscious  Mar- 
jorie's  charm  won  him  when  the  others  had  failed. 
His  indifference  and  depression,  his  remorseful 
memory  of  past  weakness,  his  weary  disgust  at.  a 
warmth  which  found  no  response  in  his  own  breast, 
his  stem  contempt  for  the  lies  of  a  beautiful  woman 
whose  very  beauty  had  grown  loathsome  to  him,  — 
all,  at  the  sweet,  pure  call  of  a  child's  voice  from 
the  depths  of  her  fairy  glades,  fled  like  a  troop  of 
frightened  demons  before  the  uplifted  cross ;  and 
Sydney  Bruce,  light  of  heart,  he  knew  not  why, 
sailed  towards  Ostende  and  —  he  knew  not 
what. 

He  had  merely  telegraphed  his  sister,  and  taken 
the  first  steamer.  Arriving,  as  soon  as  the  out 
bursts  of  delight  were  somewhat  appeased,  he  an 
nounced  his  intention  to  belong  exclusively  to  the 
children.  "With  riotous  joy  they  took  him  at  his 
word,  and  triumphantly  carried  him  off  to  their 
favorite  haunts,  and  an  unlimited  course  of  sand- 
pies  and  quiet  fairy-corners.  Mrs.  Raymond  was 
too  glad  to  have  him  upon  any  terms  to  make  ob 
jections  to  this  monopoly.  "There's  nobody  here 
J  want  for  him,"  she  confided  to  her  husband  after 
a  few  days. 

"There  are  several  who  want  him,  however," 
answered  Mr.  Raymond. 

."There  always  are,"  the  admiring  sister  said 
carelessly. 

"  I  have  often  wondered  in  what  Sj'dney's  special 
attraction  to  women  lies,"  he  said  speculatively. 


176  AUNT  SEEENA. 

'•  He's  a  good-looking  fellow,  but  he  has  slain  his 
tens  of  thousands  where  another  man  ' '  — 

"  You,  for  instance,"  suggested  his  wife,  smiling. 

"Yes,  I — if  you  like  —  have  slain  only  my 
thousands." 

"Henry,"  she  explained,  "you  and  Sydney  are 
the  same  height  and  the  same  size,  and  your  clothes 
look  alike,  and  your  voices  are  not  dissimilar,  and 
3*ou  both  have  Antinous  noses,  and,  curiously  enough, 
what  I  call  indistinct  hair,  —  brown  fading  into  early 
gray  ;  but  you  are  no  more  alike,  and  you  look  no 
more  alike,  than  —  than  "  — 

"Than  a  nutmeg  and  a  calla-lily,"  said  her  hus 
band,  coming  to  her  aid.  "Thanks  for  the  cata 
logue  of  my  charms,  my  dear." 

"You  have  a  great  many  charms  for  me,"  re 
marked  Mrs.  Raymond  in  her  sincere,  direct  way. 
"  You  suit  me  better  than  a  man  like  Sydney  would. 
I  mean,  —  as  my  husband." 

Mr.  Raymond  laughed.  "You  suit  me  better 
than  any  other  woman  in  the  world  would.  I  mean, 
—  as  my  wife." 

"  I  do  not  doubt  it,"  she  said  seriously.  "  Fortu 
nately,  we  suit  each  other.  But  Sydney  would  be 
more  attractive  to  many  women  than  you  could  ever 
be,  for  the  simple  reason,  that  while  he  has  lived  as 
well  as  you,  and  been,  upon  the  whole,  quite  as  com 
fortable,  I  think,  he  has  not  the  air  of  it.  You  are 
simple." 

"Indeed!" 

"He  is  complex.     You  are  sunny:  he  is  some- 


AUNT  SERENA.  177 

times,  but  not  always.  He  is  indifferent  to  women. 
You  were  never  in  your  life  perfectly  indifferent  to 
a  pretty  girl,  Henry,"  she  said  with  smiling  empha 
sis. 

"  My  dear  Florence  !  "  he  expostulated. 

"  He  takes  life  seriously,"  she  continued.  "  You 
take  it  as  a  pastime.  You  look  out  of  your  gray 
eyes  as  if  everybody  were  a  joke.  He  looks  out  of 
his  thoughtfully ;  and  all  the  women  think  he  has 
suffered,  that  he  has  a  history.  And  most  women, 
whether  they  like  it  in  a  husband  or  not,  are  be 
witched  with  a  suffering  soul  in  a  lover." 

' '  But  what  in  the  deuce  ' '  — 

"Hush!"  Mrs.  Raymond  went  on.  "  It  is  not 
his  fault.  You  know  yourself  that  no  man  is  more 
incapable  of '  posing  '  than  Sydney.  You  asked  me 
for  the  difference  between  you,  and  I'm  telling  you. 
That  is  all.  He  doesn't  aspire  to  the  suffering-soul 
ideal ;  and  for  that  matter,  I  realty  don't  think  Syd 
ney  has  ever  suffered  any  thing  to  speak  of,"  she 
said  coolly.  "  Since  that  unpleasant  experience  with 
Eleanor  Vaughn  years  ago,  things  have  run  along 
as  smoothly  for  him  as  for  us.  But  you  see,  he  has 
aspirations,  and  we  have  none." 

"  What  a  clever  woman  you  are,  Florence,"  said 
her  husband,  laughing.  "Pray  continue  your  ad 
mirable  exposition." 

"  He  longs  to  elevate  humanity,  or  at  least  he 
longs  to  have  it  elevated.  Now,  we  don't,  Hen 
ry." 

"  No,  my  love,  I  don't  think  we  do." 


178  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  As  long  as  we  find  things  comfortable  and  peo 
ple  agreeable,  we  are  satisfied." 

"  We  are,"  repeated  Mr.  Raymond  heartily. 

"  And  except  that  Percy's  teeth  make  me  a  little 
anxious,  I  have  not  at  this  moment  a  care  in  the 
world.  But  Sydney  has.  He  is  lofty,  and  we  are 
commonplace  and  matter-of-fact.  I  have  been  mat 
ter-of-fact  all  my  life,"  she  stated,  smiling  brightly 
at  her  husband  ;  "  and  so  have  you,  Henry.  Now, 
watch  Sydney.  He  cannot  help  it ;  but  he's  actually 
brooding  over  the  life-problem  of  that  little  girl,  the 
child  of  one  of  the  bathers,  who  follows  our  children 
about.  I  call  her  a  pretty,  bright-eyed  child.  He 
calls  the  little  brown  thing  a  pure  pearl.  He  talks 
about  the  dusky  warmth  of  her  eyes  and  the  opal 
glow  of  her  cheek.  I  think  I  even  heard  him  say 
that  she  has  a  lotus-face.  Now,  Henry,  do  you 
know  why  that  child  has  a  lotus-face  ?  For  I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  I  have  not  the  faintest  idea." 

Mr.  Raymond  laughed  with  exceeding  delight. 

"  He  says  poetry  to  Marjorie,  and  watches  the 
effect  of  it  on  the  fisherman's  daughter." 

"  That's  what  is  usually  called  flirting,"  suggested 
Raymond. 

"  Oh,  no :  he  is  merely  analyzing  her  emotions." 

"  Same  thing,  is  it  not?  " 

"  And  I  actually  believe  he  is  pondering  upon  the 
propriety  of  having  her  educated." 

"  And  marrying  her?  That  would  not  be  an 
unheard-of  thing.  Think  of  the  Capri  beauties  who 
have  married  in  the  great  world." 


AUNT  SEEENA.  179 

"  He  hasn't  gone  so  far  as  to  consider  that  yet," 
Mrs.  Raymond  replied  tranquilly.  "He  is  disin 
terested.  Fortunately  the  child  is  matter-of-fact 
too.  He  can't  make  her  melt  as  Marjorie  does  with 
his  stories.  He  will  become  tired  of  her  if  he  dis 
covers  her  to  be  '  soulless.'  ' 

"How  old  is  she?" 

"  Thirteen  possibly.  But  you  see,  Henry,  you 
and  I  can  look  at  the  nut-brown  maid  with  no  desire 
to  ameliorate  her  condition.  Sydney  cannot.  He 
always  sees  possibilities." 

"  Or  impossibilities.  He  would  do  better  to 
marry,"  said  Mr.  Raymond. 

His  wife  nodded  unqualified  assent. 

"  And  I  am  glad  you  are  matter-of-fact,  if  that  is 
what  you  call  it.  I  think  you  are  about  right,  Flor 
ence,  just  as  you  are,"  he  said  kindly. 

"Henry,  dear,  you  and  I  are  very  comfortable, 
but  we  have  not  Sydney's  charm,"  she  answered 
sedately. 

Meanwhile,  Sydney,  unconscious  of  the  friendly 
councils  held  in  his  behalf,  equally  unmindful  of  the 
serried  ranks  of  matrons  with  marriageable  daugh 
ters,  invulnerable  to  the  charge  of  the  light  brigade 
of  professional  beauties,  and  blind  to  the  dangerous 
ambush  of  the  ingenues,  swam,  walked,  and  fished 
like  a  careless  boy  in  the  holidays,  and,  above  all, 
was  the  children's  devoted  cavalier.  Marjorie's 
people  who  were  "happy  a  year  and  a  day,"  and 
even  they  who  were  "  happy  forever  after,"  hovered 
about  his  path  with  their  gracious  influences.  Each 


180  AUNT  SERENA. 

day  his  eye  grew  brighter,  his  step  more  elastic ;  and 
had  one  ventured  to  suggest  to  him  that  he  had  a 
"  suffering  soul,"  he  would  have  greeted  the  remark 
with  an  explosion  of  laughter,  so  ignorant  was  ho 
of  the  fine  things  attributed  to  him. 

"  For  what  is  Mr.  Bruce  '  posing '  ?  "  inquired  an 
irate  belle  satirically,  after  ten  days'  unsuccessful 
angling  for  his  attention. 

Her  brother,  weary  of  kneeling  every  evening  in 
the  hotel  or  crowded  casino,  with  a  struggling  taroug 
of  aspirants,  before  a  dull  heiress,  —  rich  as  the 
mines  of  Golconda,  stolidly  ugly  as  a  Chinese  idol, 
—  growled,  — 

"  He's  posing  for  comfort,  and  he  succeeds  un 
commonly  well." 

After  Ostende,  the  Raymonds  spent  some  pleas 
ant  weeks  in  Switzerland  and  Baden-Baden,  return 
ing  to  Wynburg  in  October ;  and  Mrs.  Raymond  was 
in  a  prolonged  state  of  wonder  and  delight  that  her 
brother  had  not  yet  proposed  going  to  America. 

"  If  I  can  keep  him  here  this  winter,"  she  said  to 
her  husband,  "  I  shall  be  almost  too  happy." 

"There's  hope  for  Sydney,"  Mr.  Raymond  re 
plied.  "  He  seems  inclined  to  take  a  cheerful  view 
of  most  things.  Indeed,"  with  an  amused  look  at 
his  wife,  "  I  almost  think  now  and  then  that  he  is 
matter-of-fact." 


AUNT  SERENA.  181 


CHAPTER  XTV. 

"  Does  the  road  wind  up-hill  all  the  way  ?  " 

CHRISTINA  ROSSETTI. 

"  "TTTHY   Mrs.  Vivien  was  here,  and  what  has 
V  V     happened,  are  matters  which  do  not  con 
cern  me,"  reasoned  Gertrude  Peyton. 

"  Why  Mrs.  Vivien  was  here,  and  what  has  hap 
pened,  are  matters  which  require  no  explanation," 
reasoned  aunt  Serena. 

Rosamond,  instinctively  opposed  to  abusing  a 
guest  the  moment  her  foot  had  crossed  the  thresh 
old,  came  in  with  a  virtuous  air  of  self-control,  but 
lost  it  speedily  in  delight,  when  Babele  appeared, 
her  rubicund  visage  half  concealed  by  a  long,  low, 
oval  basket  of  roses,  which  she  bore  proudly  aloft. 
Uttering  rapturous  ejaculations,  she  laid  it  on  Miss 
Lennox's  knee. 

"  Flowers  for  me?  "  and  aunt  Serena  looked  won- 
deringly  at  the  two  young  girls.  "  Have  you  done 
this,  children?  " 

Their  quick  eyes  spied  a  card.  "  For  Miss  Len 
nox.  Compliments  of  Mr.  Sydney  Bruce,"  Rosa- 
mond  read,  with  pleased  emphasis.  Aunt  Serena 
hung  over  the  roses  in  mute  ecstasy,  her  hands 
clasped  above  them,  her  eyes  devouring  them  aa 
they  lay  there  in  their  loveliness  among  their  owu 


182  AUNT  SERENA. 

cool  weaves,  —  fragrant,  dewy,  cut  with  long,  gener 
ous  stems,  and  sent  in  beautiful  confusion,  with  no 
attempt  at  arrangement.  Duskj7  Dutch  Velvets,  full 
blown,  and  heavy  with  then-  own  sweetness ;  pale, 
slender,  white  buds,  looking  cold  and  coy  ;  rich,  warm 
Jacqueminots  ;  Mare'chal  Niels  ;  pink  tea-roses,  and 
the  perfect  ones,  where  the  creamy  tint  is  suffused 
with  a  faint  blush,  as  if  a  tender  thought  were  pass 
ing  over  it. 

Aunt  Serena  looked  up  at  the  eager  girls  standing 
before  her.  In  her  soft  dark  eyes  was  a  suspicion 
of  tears. 

"Children,"  she  said  slowly,  "Mr.  Bruce  has 
made  me  very  happy.  I  am  a  foolish  old  woman  to 
be  so  pleased.  But  no  one  has  sent  me  a  basket  of 
flowers  in  forty-three  years  ;  and  it  touches  me,  my 
dears,  —  it  touches  me  deeply."  She  gave  a  little 
tremulous  apologetic  smile,  and  looked  down  into 
the  glowing  hearts  of  her  flowers. 

With  quick  grace  Rose  stooped,  and  lightly  kissed 
the  silvery  hair  on  the  bowed  head. 

"And  you  call  yourself  old!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Why,  you  couldn't  possibly  be  any  younger,  you 
dear  person,  not  unless  you  were  an  infant." 

"  Forty- three  years,"  repeated  aunt  Serena  in  a 
low  tone,  half  to  herself;  "  forty-three  years  ago  this 
very  month  : ' '  and  she  looked  again  from  the  roses 
to  the  girls,  with  the  sweet  surprise  and  the  old 
memories  in  her  face. 

Gertrude  wanted  to  cry.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
reason  why  she  should.  Aunt  Serena  looked  happy 


AUNT  SERENA.  183 

if  moved ;  and  Rosamond  had  assumed  a  spirited 
and  protective  air  towards  her,  as  she  was  wont  to 
do  when  their  respective  positions  were  for  a  mo 
ment  reversed,  and  it  was  her  aunt  who  needed  her 
aid.  But  Gertrude  often  felt  a  certain  weak,  chok 
ing  sensation  in  her  strong,  song-bird  throat  when 
she  was  with  these  two.  At  aunt  Serena's  feet  she 
offered  homage  and  adoration,  as  to  a  holy  saint  in  a 
shrine;  and  more,  —  she  gave  an  intense  personal 
devotion,  as  if  that  enshrined  saint  had  reached  out 
to  her,  in  her  loneliness,  loving,  pitiful,  human  hands, 
— had  breathed  sweet  words  of  guidance  and  of  hope 
into  her  desolate  soul.  And  Rose  was  the  personi 
fication  of  the  light,  warmth,  and  sweetness  in  which 
her  own  drean>-  life  had  failed.  But  the  very  secu 
rity  and  sympathy  existing  between  the  two  com 
panions,  the  perfect  relationship  which  they  enjoyed, 
it  seemed  to  her  as  naturally  as  they  breathed,  filled 
her  with  sadness.  "It  is  so  rare,"  she  thought; 
"  and  they  do  not  even  know  how  wonderful  and 
beautiful  it  is.  Why,  I  would  give  all  the  rest  of 
my  life  if  I  might  be  as  happy  as  this  dear  Rose 
one  single  day  !  "  Yet  no  shade  of  envy  darkened 
her  generous  spirit.  It  was  only  that  the  loveliness 
she  now  perceived  was  so  vivid  a  contrast  to  her 
own  experience,  that,  in  watching  her  new  friends, 
she  was  always  living  in  two  worlds. 

Aunt  Serena,  in  spite  of  the  staid  gentleness  of 
her  manner,  was  noticeably  unlike  the  people  about 
her.  Her  direct,  loyal,  simple  words  and  ways 
made  her  to  Gertrude  as  much  of  a  marvel  as  Rose 


184  AUNT  SERENA. 

herself,  with  her  pretty,  fearless  caprices,  and  her 
habitual  unconsciousness  that  she  was  living  in  a 
world  regarded  by  most  people  as  a  sorry  place  at 
best.  "  I  must  tell  them  every  thing,  every  thing," 
thought  Gertrude  ;  "  and  she  will  know  what  I  ought 
to  do.  She  will  know,  like  the  angel  sent  to  guide 
the  young  Tobias,  —  in  the  picture."  But  now  she 
felt  like  crying,  nevertheless ;  and  it  seemed  to  be 
only  because  Miss  Serena  Lennox  was  pleased  with 
her  beautiful  roses.  Aunt  Serena  looked  at  the 
young  girl,  and  suddenly  forgot  her  flowers  and  her 
old  associations. 

"Why,  Gertrude,  child!"  she  said  in  her  low 
voice.  Gertrude  was  quite  still,  and  her  eyes  were 
dry  and  bright ;  but  aunt  Serena  had  a  divining-rod 
for  pain  in  the  depths  of  human  hearts. 

"  Rose,  you  may  put  them  in  water  in  my  room, 
and  begin  to  arrange  them,"  and  she  held  out  the 
basket.  She  knew,  that  while  Gertrude,  in  all  prob 
ability,  had  nothing  to  say  which  she  would  wish 
withheld  from  Rose,  yet  it  would  be  easier  for  her 
to  speak  if  her  young  friend  were  not  seated  for 
mally  as  second  auditor ;  a  confidence  ' '  under  six 
eyes"  being  rarely  satisfactoiy.  "Wait,  dear;" 
and  choosing  two  deep,  red  buds,  she  gave  one  to 
Gertrude.  "  You  should  alwaj7s  wear  that  rich 
color,"  she  said,  as  Gertrude  fastened  it  at  her 
throat.  While  she  spoke,  she  studied  the  young, 
earnest  face.  "  The  child  would  rather  I  would 
begii ,"  she  concluded. 

"  You  said  you  wished  to  tell  me  something,  my 


AUNT  SERENA.  185 

dear,  I  believe,  some  little  trouble  —  some  doubt  — 
perplexity.  If  you  will  trust  me  so  far,  I  would 
gladly  be  of  service  to  you ;  and  I  think  you  may 
trust  me,  Gertrude,"  she  added  in  her  quiet  voice. 

Gertrude  smiled.  "  I  trust  you  as  I  would  trust 
one  of  God's  high  archangels,"  she  thought;  but 
what  she  said  was  only,  — 

"  I  wish  to  tell  yoi  my  whole  life." 

Miss  Lennox  made  an  involuntary  restraining 
gesture. 

"My  child,"  she  said,  "what  you  have  in  your 
heart  to  tell  me,  you  may  tell  as  freely  as  if  you 
were  Rosamond.  But  for  your  own  sake  be  sure 
that  you  will  not  regret  it.  Sometimes  one  speaks, 
and  afterwards  one  is  sorry.  I  would  not  wish  you 
to  be  sorry  that  you  had  told  me  your  life,  my  dear ; 
and  you  do  not  need  to  tell  me  a  word.  In  years, 
it  is  still  a  little  life.  I  am  sure  it  has  been  good 
and  brave.  You  shall  tell  it  all  if  you  wish,  if  it 
would  be  a  relief  to  you ;  but  you  do  not  need  to 
speak.  Rose  and  I  are  not  curious." 

"No,  we  are  not,"  corroborated  Rose  emphati 
cally,  coming  in  with  a  filled  vase,  going  out  with 
an  empty  one,  and  leaving,  as  she  passed,  a  hasty 
little  kiss  on  Gertrude's  cheek. 

"  I  wish  to  tell  you,  for  every  reason,"  Gertrude 
relied  in  her  low,  vibrating  tones,  "  if  I  may  — 
if  you  have  patience  —  if  it  will  not  be  too  long 
and  stupid." 

"  Very  well,  my  child.  Remember  it  is  a  life  for 
which  I  care." 


186  AUNT  SERENA. 

"And  I  have  been  out  walking  with  Lieut,  von 
Falkenstein !  "  Gertrude  stated,  beginning  in  eager, 
honorable  haste,  with  the  end  of  her  story. 

"  I  know.  I  heard  you  say  so  the  first  day  I 
saw  you,"  aunt  Serena  reassuringly  remarked,  as 
if  the  German  army  were  a  trifle  to  be  left  on  one 
side  until  more  weighty  matters  had  been  discussed. 

Gertrude  looked  at  her  gravely.  Here  was  a 
woman  who  evidently  regarded  a  young  girl's  life 
as  more  important  than  a  young  man's  uniform, — 
who  cared  to  know  what  was  in  the  heart,  and  not 
the  accidents  of  her  temporary  position. 

"  I  am  nineteen,"  she  began  again. 

"  Only  a  year  and  a  half  older  than  Rose,"  said 
Miss  Lennox  with  a  little  air  of  encouragement  and 
approval.  It  seemed  as  if  there  were  something 
praiseworthy  in  the  mere  fact  of  being  nineteen. 
Gertrude  smiled  in  spite  of  herself. 

Aunt  Serena  was  leaning  comfortably  in  the  tall 
oak-chair.  She  looked  small  and  fragile  against  its 
massive  back.  She  wore  a  sober  dove-gray  morn 
ing-gown,  with  soft  old  lace  at  the  throat  and 
wrists.  In  her  gentle  hand  was  the  dark-red  rose. 
Sometimes  she  looked  at  the  rose,  sometimes  she 
looked  at  Gertrude.  There  was  nothing  formal  ic 
her  way  of  listening ;  yet  the  girl  felt  that  this  be 
nign  being  was  there,  all  there, — the  charitable 
heart,  the  delicate,  rapid  intuition,  the  brain  with 
its  close  attention,  its  clear,  calm  judgment,  —  for 
her. 

Aunt  Serena  was  not  one  of  those  much-vaunted, 


AUNT  SERENA.  187 

exemplary,  elderly  ladies  who  are  never  known  to 
sit  idle,  or  to  lean  their  aged  frames  against  a  con 
venient  prop.  Her  hands  were  skilled  in  all  kinds 
of  womanly  work,  her  days  were  full  to  overflow 
ing  ;  but  her  industry  was  not  clamorous,  her  ener 
gies  were  unobtrusive. 

She  was  a  woman  to  whom  people  were  apt  to 
bring  their  secrets.  Over-burdened  hearts  poured 
themselves  out  before  her,  as  in  a  still  and  safe 
confessional.  At  such  moments  she  would  listen, 
at  rest  in  mind  and  body,  until  the  very  peace  of 
her  presence  would  calm  troubled*  waves  of  feeling. 
"A  human  spirit  strives  to  show  itself  to  me," 
was  her  simple  and  tender  reflection ;  "its  hidden 
thoughts,  its  aspirations,  its  pathetic  losses.  I 
cannot,  if  I  would,  see  it  as  it  is,  or  reach  it  or  aid 
it  much.  But  at  least  I  can  do  it  reverence.  Shall 
I  bring  my  needlework  where  an  imprisoned  king 
struggles  to  escape  ?  ' ' 

Courteous  and  restful,  she  now  listened  to  the 
young  girl,  who  with  a  troubled  air  was  saying,  — 

"I  am  not  two  years  older  than  Rose,  yet  ages 
older  than  she  will  ever  be."  ' 

"And  who  knows  that,  Gertrude?"  said  Rose 
herself  with  soft  seriousness,  clasping  two  large 
green  jars  in  her  slender  arms,  and  standing  a  mo 
ment  in  deep  thought. 

"  You  are  right,"  Gertrude  replied  gently.  "  No 
one  knows.  But  it  seems  so,  and  I  hope  so." 

Rose  hesitated.  "I  will  leave  her  to  aunt 
Serena,"  she  thought,  walking  slowly  out  with  her 


138  AUNT  SERENA. 

jars,  which  seemed  to  occupy  considerable  time  ;  for 
she  did  not  return  at  once. 

"  It  may  be  my  own  fault  that  things  have  been 
hard  for  me,"  Gertrude  began  :  "  but,  Miss  Lennox, 
I  do  become  very  obstinate  when  uncle  Charles 
insists  that  I  must  be  a  teacher ;  for  I  have  not 
the  least  gift  of  imparting  the  little  I  know.  I 
could  at  best  only  teach  German  and  music  to  Lifcle 
children,  and  I  have  neither  taste  nor  talent  for 
such  a  life.  Above  all,  I  have  not  patience  for  it. 
I  know  that  a  great  many  girls,  with  what  we  call 
musical  organizations,  teach  patiently  and  well.  A 
girl  no  older  than  1  comes  to  Molly  and  Daisy 
Lancaster,  and  helps  them  prepare  their  lessons  for 
the  Conservatory.  She  is  as  sensitive  as  I  am,  and 
a  better  musician,  and  not  as  strong  physically.  I 
don't  know  whether  it  will  kill  her  or  not.  My 
private  opinion  is  that  it  will,  but  I  probably  shall 
not  be  here  to  see.  As  for  me,  I  loathe  it.  It 
makes  me  irritable  and  nervous,  and  miserable  in 
soul  and  body :  and,  what  is  more,  it  makes  my 
own  music  hideous  to  me ;  and  my  music  is  the 
one  lovely  thing  in  my  life,  —  or  was  until  you 
and  Rose  came,"  she  added  timidly.  Aunt  Serena 
looked  at  her  with  kind  composure,  and  said  nothiDg 

"  I'm  talking  queerly,  am  I  not?  I  do  not  know 
how  to  tell  it  in  a  proper  autobiography  style.  I 
forget  that  you  don't  know  uncle  Charles.  I  am 
afraid  I  shall  tell  it  very  badly.  You  know,  I  never 
told  it  before  ;  "  and  Gertrude  spoke  with  some  agi 
tation. 


AUNT  SEEENA.  189 

"Tell  it  just  as  it  comes,  my  child,"  said  aunt 
Serena's  calm  voice. 

"Uncle  Charles  is  not  unkind.  I  suppose  he  is 
a  very  good  man,  even  if  I  do  not  like  him  much. 
Do  not  think  I  consider  myself  a  victim  to  any 
body's  cruelty.  Other  girls  have  trouble  too. 
Perhaps  it  is  cowardly  in  me  to  come  to  you  in  this 
way.  But  since  I  have  known  you,  it  has  seemed 
to  me  that  you  and  Rose  were  pure  harmony,  and  I 
was  out  of  tune  with  myself  and  the  whole  world ; 
and  I  thought  the  great  crashing  discords  would  " — • 
She  paused  confused,  hardly  knowing  what  she 
wished  to  say. 

"  They  may  not  be  discords,  child,  only  strong 
transition  chords.  How  do  you  know,  indeed, 
when  you  stand  too  near  to  hear  them  clearly? 
The}r  may  lead  from  a  stormy  theme  into  a  melody 
beautiful  be}rond  your  imagining.  And  if  they  are 
discords!  What  then?  They,  too,  are  needful. 
They  are  potent  in  life's  harmonies.  No  master- 
hand  writes  lullabies  alone.  Must  I  tell  our  chief 
musician,  our  sweet  singer,  this?"  and  she  smiled 
irto  Gertrude's  troubled  eyes. 

"  Yes,  I  know ;  but  I  am  tired  :  "  and  her  brave 
young  voice  quivered  slightly.  Recovering  herself, 
she  said  lightly,  "  I  have  been  disagreeing  con 
stantly  with  my  uncle  for  one  thing ;  and  that  in 
itself  is  fatiguing,  for  he  is  as  tenacious  of  his  opin 
ion  as  I  am  of  mine.  He  sa,ys  I  must  submit  to  the 
inevitable,  and  I  tell  him  I  want  to  find  out  first  what 
the  inevitable  is.  He  thinks  me  proud.  He 


190  AUNT  SERENA. 

me  that  '  a  haughty  spirit  goeth  before  destruction.' 
He  likes  phrases,  you  see.  He  says  we  are  all  vile 
worms,  I  never  feel  so.  How  can  one  do  honest 
work  in  the  world,  even  the  little  one  is  called  upon 
to  do,  if  one  believes  one  is  only  a  mean,  crawling 
thing,  fated  to  be  stepped  upon,  or  gobbled  up  by 
some  cruel  beak.  I  may  as  well  confess  that  I  am 
not  humble." 

"  I  never  thought  you  were,  my  dear,"  said  aunt 
Serena  demurely. 

"O  Gertrude,  Gertrude,  I  hear  you!"  cried 
Rose,  appearing  again.  "  You  are  quite  as  bad  as 
I.  I  never  was  humble,  either." 

"You  are  two  dangerous  revolutionists.  Rosa 
mond  is  the  worse,  because  her  desire  to  overthrow 
and  destroy  is  innate ;  while  yours,  Gertrude,  is 
more  pardonable,  having  been  roused  by  contact 
with  the  hard  world.  How  shall  I  reduce  you 
young  rebels  to  submission?  What  shall  I  do  with 
you?" 

Rose  responded  with  a  happy  little  laugh,  and 
withdrew.  But  Gertrude  said  vehemently,  "What 
you  will ;  any  thing,  now  that  you  have  classed  me 
with  Rose." 

"  You  are  more  like  my  impetuous  Rose  than  I 
would  have  imagined  such  a  pale,  calm  girl  could 
evar  be ; "  and  aunt  Serena  laid  her  hand  lightly 
on  Gertrude's. 

Gertrude  was  longing  to  speak  unreservedly.  She 
was  eager  to  confess,  and  receive  absolution  from 
this  dear  and  saintly  priestess.  But  the  habit  of 


AUNT  SERENA.  191 

reticence  had  taken  firm  root  in  her  young  soul ;  and 
when  she  would  fain  disclose  her  griefs  and  cares, 
the  words  died  on  her  lips.  Indeed,  why  was  it 
necessary?  "Was  not  this  fine  old  lady  a  reader 
of  hearts?  Would  not  her  wonderful  prescience 
reveal  more  than  a  girl's  awkward,  lame  recital? 
But  aunt  Serena,  unconscious  of  the  magic  powers 
attributed  to  her,  waited  as  if  she  were  not  waiting, 
watched  as  if  she  were  not  watching,  and,  by  the 
silent  might  of  her  womanliness,  controlled  the  ques 
tioning,  uneasy  spirit. 

"  May  I  sit  down  low  on  the  cushion,  like  Eose  ?  " 
Gertrude  asked  shyly. 

Aunt  Serena  reached  over  to  the  sofa,  pulled  the 
cushion  down,  and  made  a  kindly,  inviting  gesture 
in  a  familiar,  motherly  way,  as  if  it  were  as  natural 
for  one  of  her  girls  as  for  the  other,  to  sit  at  her  feet. 

Gertrude,  with  bowed  head  and  drooping  eyelids, 
her  hands  working  a  little  nervously,  said,  — 

"  There  are  ugly  things  in  my  life,  Miss  Lennox. 
They  began  when  I  was  very  young.  I  was  not 
responsible  for  them  ;  but  they  have  influenced  most 
people's  estimation  of  me,  and  haunted  me  always. 
I  used  to  be  very  confused  and  miserable  in  my  own 
ideas.  It  seemed  to  me  I  could  never  separate 
myself  from  the  acts  of  other  people.  But  now  I 
believe  every  soul  stands  alone.  And  I  grieve  and 
mourn  for  what  happened ;  but  I  will  not  blush  or 
be  ashamed  any  more,  unless  I  blush  for  myself: 
why  should  I?"  And  she  threw  back  her  head 
with  a  certain  defiance  in  her  face. 


192  AUNT  SERENA. 

She  met  only  the  earnest  gaze  of  the  kindest  eyes 
in  the  world,  and  saw  a  tender  mouth  with  the  pa 
thetic  lines  that  renunciation  draws  ;  and,  more  gen 
tly  than  any  one  had  ever  spoken  to  her,  a  voice 
murmured,  — 

"  Why,  indeed,  my  child?  " 

Her  face  softened ;  her  eyes  flashed  one  eloquent, 
grateful  glance  upwards,  then  drooped  as  before ; 
and  she  went  on  rapidly,  — 

"I  was  only  a  little  girl  when  it  happened.  I 
was  nearly  twelve  years  old ;  but  I  was  an  old- 
fashioned  child,  and  was  playing  with  my  doll.  She 
was  almost  as  large  as  I,  I  remember.  I  was  carry 
ing  her  down  stairs  one  day.  I  had  come  from 
mamma's  room.  She  was  an  invalid,  and  rarely 
left  her  room.  And  I  heard  a  great  noise.  I  ran 
into  papa's  study ;  and  —  I  saw  him  lying  there. 
He  had  shot  himself,  you  know,  —  and  I  was  only  a 
little  girl,  and  I  was  the  one  who  found  him  ;  "  and 
she  covered  her  eyes.  Two  tender  hands  rested 
with  a  great  compassion  on  the  fair  head. 

"  I  put  my  doll  before  my  face,  and  stood  still, 
and  shrieked.  I  could  not  stir,  but  I  shrieked  until 
they  came  and  took  me  awajr.  I  never  touched  a 
doll  again.  I  never  was  a  little  girl  any  more. 
Months  after  I  used  to  see  poor  papa  in  my  sleep, 
and  wake  nryself  with  cries  of  terror.  It  frightened 
my  very  life.  It  frightened  the  blood  from  my 
cheeks  and  the  youth  from  my  heart,  and  left  me 
pallid  and  joyless. 

"  Then  came  ghastly  weeks.     Mamma  was  very 


AUNT  SEEENA.  193 

ill.  I  could  scarcely  see  her.  The  servants  went 
about  whispering.  I  used  to  cry  days  until  I  was 
too  weary  to  cry  more ;  for  I  loved  papa,  and 
missed  him  keenly.  He  was  very  good  to  me. 
Nights  my  awful  dream  never  forsook  me.  Uncle 
Charles  came  in  and  out,  and  always  told  me  I 
must  be  reconciled.  Whom  the  Lord  loveth  he 
chasteneth.  I  hardly  knew  what  he  meant.  I  was 
a  wretched,  neglected  child.  There  was  no  one  to 
comfort  me.  I  was  naturally  reconciled  to  nothing. 
My  little  sister  Ruth  was  born,  and  mamma  died. 
This  was  another  shock  and  grief;  still,  I  sorrowed 
most  for  papa.  They  took  us  then  to  uncle  Charles's 
house  ;  but  he  had  four  daughters  himself,  and  soon 
he  sent  me  to  boarding-school.  I  have  been  in 
different  schools  ever  since,  until  last  year. 

"Are  you  tired  of  me?  "  she  asked  abruptly. 

Aunt  Serena's  smile  was  the  only  answer. 

"  It  is  a  wonder,"  Gertrude  said  simply.  "  I  was 
in  a  small  school  in  New  York  two  years.  At  first 
I  was  lonely  and  shy ;  but  the  second  year  I  was 
happier,  because  a  new  girl  came  who  was  very 
winning,  and  bright  as  a  sunbeam.  I  thought  her 
an  angel.  We  became  intimate  friends.  I  idolized 
her,  telling  her  every  thing,  except  that  of  which  I 
never  spoke.  One  day  she  came  to  me  with  a 
proper  little  air,  and  no  constraint  or  hesitation. 
'  Gertrude,'  she  said,  '  I  am  very  sorry  ;  but  I  have 
just  heard  about  your  father,  and  I  think  mamma 
would  hardly  like  me  to  be  intimate  with  you.'  She 
looked  so  pretty  as  she  said  it.  She  had  beautiful 


194  AUNT  SERENA. 

warm  chestnut  hair,  like  Rose ;  and  she  tossed  it 
back,  and  smiled  at  one  of  the  governesses  who  waa 
passing.  Eve^'body  loved  her,  I  most  of  all.  I 
was  so  stunned  and  dull  I  did  not  blame  her.  It 
did  not  occur  to  me  then  that  she  did  wrong.  I 
have  heard  of  her  and  seen  her  since.  The  world 
calls  her  a  most  lovely  character ;"  and  Gertrude 
smiled. 

"How  old  was  she?" 

"  Fourteen.     A  little  older  than  I." 

"  Fourteen  in  a  girl  is  hardly  young  enough  for 
an  act  of  mere  thoughtless,  childish  brutality,"  aunt 
Serena  said  gravely. 

"  Oh,  no.  She  was  not  thoughtless.  She  knew 
quite  well  what  she  did.  She  would  do  it  again,  or 
a  similar  thing,  whenever  it  suited  her  convenience. 
But  she  would  never  say  an  unlady-like  word,  never 
make  an  abrupt  gesture.  She  is  very  attractive. 

"After  that  I  grew  depressed  and  silent  again. 
I  was  conscious  that  I  was  pointed  out  to  new  girls, 
and  that  my  story  was  told  to  them.  Now  and 
then  it  seemed  to  me  people  knew  more  than  I 
did.  Once  I  distinctly  heard  some  one  say,  '  dis 
honor  and  suicide.'  It  filled  me  with  new  horrors. 
I  was  moody  and  ill.  I  think  now,  as  I  look  back, 
that  I  really  suffered  very  much  at  that  time ;  but 
no  one  knew  it.  They  only  thought  me  peculiar. 
No  doubt  there  were  girls  there  who  would  have 
been  generous  and  good,  if  I  could  have  told  them 
how  miserable  I  was.  But  I  did  not  know  how  to 
take  the  weight  off  my  heart.  I  was  a  little,  white, 


AUNT  SEEENA.  195 

silent,  unattractive  girl.  Do  not  think  I  am  blaming 
them.  They  were  always  kind  enough  to  me,  but  I 
felt  as  if  a  great  gulf  was  fixed  between  them  and 
me.  The  only  tune  I  forgot  it  was  when  I  was 
happy  with  Lilian.  Ah !  I  did  not  intend  to  men 
tion  her  name,"  Gertrude  said  hurriedly.  "I  am 
sorry.  It  is  quite  possible  that  you  may  meet 
her." 

"  Why  should  you  not  mention  her  name  to  me?  " 
aunt  Serena  asked  with  a  searching  look. 

Gertrude  hesitated.  "  I  do  not  like  to  complain 
of  people,  if  I  do  abuse  fate  roundly  now  and  then ; 
and  I  have  a  theory  that  it  is  mean  not  to  let  every 
body  have  a  fair  start.  You  might  meet  her,  and 
like  her.  Why  not  ?  It  is  not  my  affair.  But  she 
would  hardly  have  a  fair  start,  if  she  were  weighed 
down  with  that  one  thing  she  said  when  she  was 
fourteen." 

"No,  she  would  not,"  said  aunt  Serena  very 
gently  and  with  a  singular  smile.  "But  you  say 
you  think  she  would  do  it  again." 

"Yes,"  replied  Gertrude  with  quiet  decision,  "I 
am  sure.  She  stood  by  me  in  the  Dresden  Gallery, 
before  the  Sistine  Madonna,  two  years  after,  and 
looked  me  freely  in  the  face  with  no  sign  of  recog 
nition.  She  was  with  her  mamma." 

"You  spoke?" 

"I  said,  'O  Lilian!'  It  was  foolish,  but  quite 
involuntary.  I  came  suddenly  upon  them,  and  1 
had  seen  no  one  from  home  in  a  long  time.  She 
looked  so  very  pretty,  you  understand." 


196  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"Yes,  dear.  I  think  I  am  beginning  to  under 
stand  you." 

"  It  hurt  me,  I  must  admit ;  but  I  might  have 
known  she  would  do  it.  That  last  winter  in  New 
York  she  had  spoken  politely  to  me  always.  She 
was  the  most  civil  girl  there.  Her  manners  were 
the  pride  of  the  school.  We  simply  ceased  to  be 
intimate.  She  changed  her  room,  and  her  tone  to 
me.  She  knew  how  to  put  little  nuances  of  mean 
ing  into  her  face  and  voice  as  well  as  her  mamma 
did ;  but  she  was  never  rude,  and  she  always  spoke, 
—  when  she  could  not  avoid  seeing  me.  Of  course, 
she  had  the  right  to  recognize  me  or  not  when  she 
was  older. 

"But  I  did  not  tell  you  how  I  came  to  Dresden. 
I  was  pale  and  thin,  no  credit  to  the  school,  and  no 
favorite  with  the  teachers.  They  thought  me  sul 
len.  Perhaps  I  was.  At  all  events,  I  could  not 
have  merry,  amiable  ways  like  other  girls.  A 
great  hush  seemed  to  have  fallen  upon  me. 

"Then  I  heard  of  a  girl  who  had  gone  to  Ger 
many,  and  I  gave  uncle  Charles  no  peace  until  he 
nad  consented  to  send  me  away.  It  seemed  to  me 
I  might  be  able  to  begin  fresh  in  a  strange  land. 
He  was  really  not  averse  to  the  idea.  The  care  of 
me  has  always  made  him  uncomfortable,  and  he  has 
daughters  enough  of  his  own.  My  cousins  were 
never  at  the  same  school  with  me.  It  would  have 
been  embarrassing  to  them.  It  need  not  have  been. 
Papa  was  much  nobler  and  lovelier  than  uncle 
Charles ;  and  even  if  misfortune  did  come,  and  he 


AUNT  SERENA.  197 

was  desperate,  he  had  been  always  generous  and 
kind  to  every  mortal.  Poor  papa  !  "  She  stopped 
and  looked  directly  into  the  gentle,  attentive  face. 
"Perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  there  was  what 
they  call  dishonor  there.  When  I  was  little  I  never 
knew  why  he  did  it.  I  thought  it  was  because  he 
was  unhappy.  But  uncle  Charles  has  told  me  there 
were  money  difficulties,  and  something  wrong.  Per 
haps  I  could  explain  it  more  clearly,  if  you  wish," 
with  a  distressed  look. 

"  I  do  not  wish.  You  have  explained  it  quite 
clearly  enough." 

"  I  only  wished  you  to  know  all.  He  had  asked 
uncle  Charles  for  help,  but  he  would  not  ask  but 
once.  Papa  was  very  proud  and  sensitive.  I  can 
not  understand  myself  how  such  dreadful  complica 
tions  ever  arose  ;  but  I  think  papa  was  good, — in 
his  own  nature  I  mean.  I  shall  always  think  so," 
and  she  looked  at  Miss  Lennox  sadly.  In  her  eyes 
was  a  mute  appeal. 

"  He  must  have  been  a  miserable,  tortured  soul," 
said  aunt  Serena. 

"Yes,"  assented  the  girl  gratefully.  "That  is 
what  I  always  think.  He  did  not  know  what  he 
did.  Well,"  she  went  on  wearily,  "it  is  not  a 
very  interesting  tale,  as  you  must  acknowledge. 
Uncle  Charles  was  upon  the  whole  relieved  to  have 
me  come  away.  I  think  it  was  a  wise  thing ;  for 
I  ceased  to  remind  them  all  of  a  disgrace,  and  I 
could  breathe  more  freely  myself.  Ruth,  my  littlo 
sister,  was  too  young  to  care.  I  came  to  a  school 


198  AUNT  SEEENA. 

near  Dresden.  I  was  not  quite  fifteen  then.  I 
don't  know  whether  it  was  the  voyage  that  did  me 
good,  or  the  novelty  ;  but  I  grew  brighter  and  hap 
pier  at  once.  I  no  longer  felt  as  if  there  were  a 
curse  overshadowing  me. 

"  Only  once  was  any  ungenerous  allusion  made. 
One  of  the  younger  governesses  was  rebuking  four 
or  five  of  us  for  some  neglect  of  duty.  I  do  not 
know  how  she  knew.  Such  bitter  things  have 
wings,  and  fly  from  shore  to  shore.  Then,  after 
wards,  indeed,  I  heard  she  had  given  German  les 
sons  to  some  children  in  a  New- York  family,  then 
living  in  Dresden.  She  said,  'It  is  inexcusable  in 
you  all,  but  particularly  in  Miss  Peyton,  who  ought 
always  to  remember  she  should  not  claim  too  much 
indulgence.'  The  girls  were  simple,  good-natured 
creatures,  and  attached  no  meaning  to  her  words. 
They  may  have  thought  she  singled  me  out  because 
I  was  taller  than  the  others.  But  I  went  straight  to 
her  room.  I  don't  know  what  I  said.  I  was  mad 
with  rage.  I  was  at  a  white  heat.  I  forbade  her 
ever  to  speak  to  me  or  of  me  again.  I  had  begun 
to  have  a  little  comfort.  Something  within  me 
asserted  its  right  to  it.  I  would  not  give  up  my 
chances  without  a  struggle.  I  would  not  blame 
papa ;  but  neither  would  I  lose  myself  again  in 
that  black  shadow.  She  reported  that  I  stood 
there  with  flaming  eyes  and  a  deathly  face,  — '  like 
a  fiend,'  she  said,  —  tearing  my  handkerchief  into 
strips,  and  telling  her,  in  a  low,  unearthly  voice, 
that  I  would  kill  her  if  she  did  not  let  me  alone. 


AUNT  SERENA.  199 

She  left  soon  after  that ;  and  although  I  was  repri« 
manded  for  improper  language,  I  always  imagined 
that  the  principal  looked  leniently  upon  my  blinding 
tornado  of  wrath,  and  that  the  indiscreet  governess 
had  been  dismissed  on  my  account.  I  presume  the 
poor  thing  meant  no  harm.  She  was  stupid  and 
without  tact,  and  wished  to  be  important.  But  you 
see,  I  had  borne  all  I  could.  I  refused  to  accept 
needless  suffering.  Then  things  went  on  very 
quietly.  It  was  pleasant  enough  there.  Only, 
you  know,  I  never  had  the  feeling  of  belonging 
to  anybody ;  and  I  never  dared  be  intimate  with 
any  girl  after  Lilian.  I  staid  a  long  time,  —  until 
my  eighteenth  birthday.  The  last  year  I  was  pupil 
teacher,  so  I  know  from  experience  what  a  poor  in 
structor  of  youth  I  make.  They  would  take  me 
back.  They  give  me  a  good  character."  She 
smiled  rather  sadly.  "I  cannot  say  there  is  not 
a  respectable  occupation  and  a  respectable  home 
awaiting  me.  I  ought  to  be  grateful.  The  time 
may  come  when  I  shall  go  back  to  it,  but  I  hope 
I  may  die  before  I  must.  I  hope  I  may  die  first. 

"Last  year  I  went  home  to  see  Ruth.  She  is 
seven  years  old  now,  and  the  dearest  little  girl,  but 
very,  very  delicate.  She  cried  so  when  I  came 
away,  and  it  broke  my  heart  to  leave  her.  She  is 
the  one  thing  that  belongs  to  me,  and  I  want  her. 
I  hunger  and  thirst  for  her.  But  they  do  right  to 
keep  her.  She  has  to  have  the  doctor  constantly. 
She  doesn't  seem  to  grow  very  much,"  Gertrude 
said  mournfully  ;  "  but  some  day,  I  think,  she  will. 


200  AUNT  SEEENA. 

Some  day  I  will  have  her  with  me.  I  will  take  care 
of  her ;  and  if  there  is  skill  enough  in  the  world,  I 
will  make  her  strong.  If  there  is  not,  I  will  make 
her  happier  than  any  strong  child. 

"  This  is  my  castle  in  the  air,  but  it  is  weary  work 
reaching  it.  Uncle  Charles  says  the  sensible  thing 
for  me  to  do  is  to  accept  the  inevitable,  and  teach  in 
the  Dresden  school.  Miss  Lennox,  if  I  should  do 
that,  I  could  not  earn  enough  to  take  Ruth.  He 
says  Ruth  is  well  off  where  she  is ;  and  if  they  are 
willing  to  have  her  there,  I  ought  not  to  complain. 
Ruth  is  comfortable,  but  she  is  not  happy.  Indeed, 
the  little  thing  is  not  happy ;  and  she  grows  so  glad 
with  me,  and  loses  the  pitiful  look  round  her  mouth. 
"Why,  one  day,  when  I  was  there,  she  laughed  till 
she  could  hardly  stop,  like  any  child.  You  know 
we  have  very  little,  Ruthie  and  I,  only  a  trifle  mam 
ma  left.  Uncle  Charles  helped  pay  for  my  education 
until  I  was  eighteen.  It  was  kind  ;  but  I  shall  repay 
it  later,"  she  added  with  some  coldness.  "•!  should 
be  sorry  to  deprive  my  cousins  of  their  rights. 
Now  he  insists  that  I  must  teach.  He  says  that  the 
world  is  full  of  impoverished  women  of  good  family 
who  have  resorted  to  teaching  as  the  most  respecta 
ble  way  of  supporting  themselves." 

"And  you?" 

"  I  insist  that  it  is  not  respectable,  but  dishonest, 
to  do  for  money  what  one  is  not  fitted  to  do  well. 
And  more  than  that,  when  they  discovered  my  voice 
was  promising,  and  advised  me  to  come  here,  I 
flatly  refused  to  teach ;  and  I  persisted  in  comi  ng  to 


AUNT  SERENA.  201 

Wynburg  :  and  —  I  hope  it  is  not  too  tedious  in  me 
to  tell  you  such  things  —  I  am  drawing  from  my 
little  capital  in  order  to  study  here.  Of  course  uncle 
Chai'les  does  not  like  it.  But  my  voice  is  my  one 
hope.  I  would  rather  risk  all,  and  lose  all  if  I  must, 
than  doom  myself  to  a  life  of  dishonest  drudgery. 
They  say  here  I  am  studying  for  the  stage.  I  never 
deny  it.  I  wish  I  were.  But  I  am  not  sure  that  I 
have  dramatic  talent ;  and  then,  you  know,  it  takes 
mone}7  and  influence  to  push  one  forward  nowadays, 
there  are  so  many  aspirants.  Still,  if  the  opportu 
nity  should  present  itself,  I  should  not  hesitate. 
Meanwhile  I  work  as  hard  as  I  can  at  my  music. 
Perhaps  I  might  be  a  church-singer  somewhere  at 
home,  and  even  teach,  if  I  might  choose  my  pupils. 
But  that  is  the  trouble.  If  one  teaches,  one  can't 
choose  unless  one  is  a  celebrated  person,  and  can 
afford  to  be  fastidious  and  tyrannical.  I  am  afraid 
I  should  be  sending  them  away  when  they  sang  false, 
and  then  poor  little  Ruth  would  starve.  But  a  great 
opera-singer  earns  her  thousands  upon  thousands, 
and  Ruth  would  have  her  caniage." 

"I  don't  know  much  about  the  stage,"  aunt 
Serena  remarked  thoughtfully,  tr}*ing  to  imagine  -his 
fair  girl  before  the  footlights. 

' '  There  is  very  little  prospect  of  my  knowing  any 
more  of  it  than  I  do  now,"  Gertrude  said  with  a  dry 
little  laugh.  "  It  is  all  visionary  on  my  part.  But  I 
must  decide  upon  something  before  long.  They 
say  I  am  going  on  the  stage,  merely  because  one  of 
the  professors  at  the  Conservatory  happened  to  de 
clare  that  I  had  voice  enough." 


202  AUNT  8EEENA. 

"  And  your  uncle  Charles?  " 

"Would  object,  and  disown  me,  unless  I  should 
become  a  famous  singer,  when  he  would  be  at  my 
feet." 

' '  He  is  not  in  easy  circumstances  himself ,  I  infer 
from  your  story,"  Miss  Lennox  remarked  with  some 
hesitation.  "  Otherwise  he  would  not  separate  you 
and  your  little  sister." 

Gertrude  laughed. 

"  He  has  four  fashionable  daughters,  and  he  lives 
in  an  elegant  house  in  New  York.  They  are  not 
poor ;  but  the  girls  are  very  gay,  and  no  doubt  he 
has  expenditures  enough.  He  would  not  refuse  me 
shelter  if  I  could  accept  it.  I  could  not.  I  would 
rather  teach,"  she  added  quietly.  "You  do  not 
know  my  cousins.  I  could  not  live  in  any  depend 
ent  position  with  them.  Then,  they  would  object 
to  it  as  much  as  I.  It  would  not  be  an  enviable  life, 
believe  me.  Yes,  I  would  rather  teach  in  Dresden," 
she  repeated. 

"Pardon  me,  my  dear,  that  I  ventured  to  ques 
tion  you." 

"  Oh,  please  ask  any  thing  you  would  care  to 
know !  I  have  never  told  any  one  what  I  am  telling 
you,  and  now  I  am  inundating  you  with  my  confi 
dences.  Yet  I  am  telling  it  very  poorly.  It  is  littlo 
to  tell,  after  all.  You  are  so  good  to  listen,  but  it  is 
strange  enough  to  me  to  be  talking  of  mj^self." 

"  No  older  woman  has  offered  you  aid  and  sympa 
thy  ?  Is  it  possible  that  you  have  not  opened  your 
young,  oppressed  heart  in  all  these  years? " 


AUNT  SERENA.  203 

"  I  have  had  neither  desire  nor  opportunity," 
Gertrude  answered  calmly.  Then,  with  ardor, 
"  Dear  Miss  Lennox,  I  have  not  seemed  to  need 
any  thing.  No  one  but  you  has  suspected  that  I 
was  in  deadly  want.  No  one  else  had  the  courage 
to  believe  in  me  without  examining  my  credentials. 
If  you  had  not  had  faith  in  me  before  hearing  my 
story,  I  would  not  have  told  it  to  you.  I  make  no 
explanations  to  people  who  doubt  me ;  "  and  she 
drew  herself  up  with  her  haughty  air. 

' '  I  understand  that  very  well ;  but  could  you  per 
haps  have  seemed  defiant,  and  repelled  well-meant 
advances  ?  Is  this  not  possible  ? ' '  said  the  harm 
less,  honest  voice. 

"  It  is  possible,  yet  I  think  it  has  not  happened. 
I  am  defiant,  but  not  of  kindness.  I  have  been  too 
famishing  for  warm  human  sympathy  to  reject  it, 
had  it  been  proffered.  But  some  instinct  warns  me 
when  low  curiosity  prompts  a  seeming  interest.  Do 
not  misunderstand.  I  cannot  doubt  that  there  are 
kind  hearts  everywhere.  But  it  has  happened  that 
I  have  not  met  with  them,  or  those  which  I  have 
met  are  content  in  their  own  circles .  After  all,  as 
I  said  before,  there  is  nothing  in  me  which  would 
appeal  to  them  ;  and  my  life  has  been  commonplace 
enough,  except  for  the  gloom  that  came  upon  it 
seven  years  ago,  which  I  feel  still  as  a  great  and 
terrible  sorrow,  but  which  I  refuse  to  regard  as  a 
disgrace.  There  are  women  here  who  would  enjoy 
taking  my  lonely  condition  for  a  theme,  and  playing 
variations  upon  it  from  pension  to  pension.  It  is 


204  AUNT  SERENA. 

possible,  if  I  could  have  confided  in  them,  I  might 
even  have  been  petted  and  patronized  for  a  season. 
They  like  any  kind  of  sensation.  But  I  take  the 
liberty  of  reserving  my  feelings  and  thoughts  for 
myself;  and  they,  in  revenge,  comment  merely  upon 
superficial,  unimportant  matters.  This  cannot  hurt 
me,  the  real  me,  however." 

"The  real  me  has  been  talking  a  long  time," 
said  aunt  Serena  affectionately.  "Will  she  rest  a 
moment?  and  if,  as  I  imagine,  we  are  coming  to 
Wynburg,  may  I  call  Rose?  Or  would  it  be  better 
if  she  should  still  wait?  " 

' '  Oh,  let  me  call  her !  She  might  have  been  here 
all  the  time.  It  was  only  that  I  was  awkward  at 
the  beginning.  But  I  am  glad  that  I  have  spoken, 
and  that  the  sad,  dull,  poor  little  story  is  almost 
told." 

Aunt  Serena  rose.  "Dear  child,"  she  said 
slowly,  "  I  thank  you  from  my  heart  that  you  have 
trusted  your  story  to  me.  I  shall  not  tell  you  ah* 
that  I  think  of  it ;  but  believe  me,  I  find  it  neither 
dull  nor  poor :  "  and  then  she  kissed  her  on  her  lips. 
"  As  she  kis«e^  Rose !  As  she  kisses  Rose  !  "  ex 
ulted  Gertrude. 

Rose  was  reading  in  her  own  room.  Being  sum 
moned,  she  came,  bringing  with  her  the  rich,  warm, 
innocent  gladness  that  distinguished  her.  Yet  it 
did  not  conflict  with  Gertrude's  graver  mood.  In 
deed,  Rose  supplied  what  Gertrude  needed. 

"  Aunt  Serena,  I  have  filled  all  the  vases  in  the 
most  aesthetic  manner,  also  the  big  jars,  and  a  large 


AUNT  SERENA.  205 

basket  and  a  little  one,  and  whatever  dishes,  not 
too  suggestive  of  vegetables,  that  I  could  beg  or 
borrow  from  Frau  Rudolph ;  and  still  there  are 
roses  and  roses  and  roses.  I  think  Mr.  Sydney 
Bruce  is  a  most  charming  person.  '  C'est  mon  opi 
nion,  ct  je  la  partage.' '  She  glanced  furtively  at 
Gertrude  with  soft,  sympathetic  ej'cs. 

"We  all  share  that  opinion,  —  I,  with  reason, 
most  of  all,"  said  aunt  Serena,  bringing  a  small 
glass  of  wine.  "Drink  this,  my  dear.  It  is  my 
special  wine,  and  you  are  fatigued." 

"  It  is  Greek  wine,  Gertrude.  Aunt  Serena  had 
a  great  box  brought  to  her  years  ago  at  home.  She 
had  just  used  the  last  bottle  when  we  came  away. 
Finding  the  same  kind  here  has  reconciled  her  to 
"Wynburg.  She  has  never,  to  my  knowledge,  swal 
lowed  a  thimbleful  herself;  but  she  administers  it  to 
her  friends  as  a  universal  panacea.  Fevers,  colds, 
headaches,  neuralgia,  sprained  ankles,  and  broken 
hearts  are  all  treated  at  the  Nest  with  Greek  wine, 
in  that  ver}7  tiny  antique  glass  ;  and,  what  is  more, 
it  always  cures." 

Miss  Lennox  was,  however,  at  this  moment,  also 
sipping  the  red  nectar.  "  I  am  afflicted  with  neither 
of  the  ills  you  mention,  Rose ;  but  this  has  been  a 
full  and  exciting  morning  for  a  recluse  like  me." 

' '  Are  you  not  too  tired  to  have  me  go  on  ?  " 
Gertrude  asked  anxiously. 

"Indeed,  no.  Rose,  Gertrude  is  going  to  tell 
us  now  what  her  experience  in  Wyuburg  has  been." 

' '  Ah  ?     You  have  had  dinner,  and  I  am  allowed 


206  AUNT  SERENA. 

to  come  in  at  dessert.  Are  there  any  sweets  left, 
Gertrude?" 

"Yes,  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein ; "  and  the  two 
girls  laughed  with  no  apparent  reason,  as  girls  will, 
Gertrude  as  heartily  as  Rose.  "That  is  well," 
thought  aunt  Serena.  "Rose  is  good  for  her,  and 
the  child  has  not  the  slightest  sensitiveness  in  re 
gard  to  this  young  man.  Poor,  poor  dear  !  What 
a  barren,  weary,  cruel  way  she  has  trod  through 
these  years  of  her  girlhood,  and  not  a  complaint, 
not  a  reproach,  not  a  harsh  word  for  one  of  them. 
And  Lilian  must  have  a  fair  start !  Well,  well,  we 
will  see." 

"  Go  on,  my  child,  my  other  child,"  she  said 
very  sweetly. 

Gertrude's  world  had  grown  warmer.  She  was 
no  longer  a  waif.  She  was  one  of  them.  They 
had  adopted  her.  It  is  as  if  she  had  said  "  Thou," 
she  thought. 


AUNT  8EEENA.  207 


CHAPTER  XV. 

"  There  are  who  ask  not  if  thine  eye 
Be  on  them  ;  who,  in  love  and  truth, 
"Where  no  misgiving  is,  rely 
Upon  the  genial  sense  of  youth : 
Glad  hearts  1  without  reproach  or  blot : 
Who  do  thy  work,  and  know  it  not." 

WORDSWORTH  :  Ode  to  Duty. 

"  ~F  WAS  not  at  Frau  Rudolph's  at  first,"  Ger- 
I  trade  began.  "  I  was  with  a  person  some 
one  had  recommended  to  uncle  Charles.  When  he 
found  I  would  come  whether  or  no,  he  made  what 
arrangements  he  could  for  me.  They  told  him  she 
would  be  a  mother  to  me.  Her  idea  of  maternal 
duties  consisted  apparently  in  examining  my  boxes 
and  opening  my  letters.  I  had  seen  Frau  Rudolph 
on  the  street,  and  knew  she  kept  a  pension.  I  came 
to  her,  and  asked  her  if  she  had  a  room  for  me. 
4  Where  you  live  ? '  she  asked.  I  told  her.  '  Why 
you  leave  that  house? '  She  knew  I  spoke  German, 
for  I  told  her  I  had  been  three  or  four  years  in 
Dresden.  But  she  likes  her  English.  '  Because  she 
meddles  with  my  boxes  and  opens  my  letters,'  I 
said.  Frau  Rudolph  laughed.  '  I  know  that  old 
fool.  She  do.  She  do,'  she  muttered.  '  You  have 
friends.  Who  sent  you  to  me  ?  You  go  much  out 


208  AUNT  SERENA. 

to  tea?  You  have  young  miss  often  with  you  to 
speak  and  make  noise  ? ' 

"  '  No  one  sent  me  to  you.  I  have  no  friends. 
I  am  very  quiet,  and  I  am  alone.  I  may  disturb 
you  with  my  music,  but  not  with  company.' 

' ' '  Why  come  to  me  ?  '  — '  Because  I  liked  your 
face,'  I  answered  bluntly ;  and  she  laughed  again, 
and  pointed  at  her  comely  countenance  with  a  wise 
forefinger.  '  My  face  is  good  face.  My  face  is  old 
cheat.  My  face  he  look  honest,  but  he  do  not  say 
my  thought.'  Then  she  led  me  to  my  little  room, 
which,  as  I  have  discovered  lately,  the  good  soul  gave 
me  for  two-thirds  her  regular  price,  probably  making 
up  for  it  by  increasing  some  other  person's  board 
proportionately  "  ( u  Bless  her ! ' '  murmured  Rose)  ; 
"  and  she  has  done  her  best  for  me  ever  since." 

"  Frau  Rudolph  takes  the  measure  of  every  one 
under  her  roof.  She  knows  us  all,  our  characters 
and  proclivities,  sometimes,  it  seems  to  me,  our  very 
thoughts  before  we  think  them.  She  would  not  let 
me,  a  young  girl  all  alone,  stay  here,  if  I  were  not 
really  nice  ;  "  and  Gertrude  colored  slightly.  "But 
the  people  do  not  seem  to  think  of  that." 

"What  people,  Gertrude?  "  asked  aunt  Serena. 

"  What  people,  indeed !  "  Gertrude  repeated  with 
a  retrospective  look.  "  Who  can  tell  how  a  rumor, 
an  impression,  flies?  No  one  originates  it.  No  one 
owns  it.  But  it  travels  far  and  wide,  and  does 
harm,  and  is  sheltered  and  welcomed  and  fattened, 
and  every  one  helps  it  along,  and  no  one  treads  it 
under  foot.  Miss  Lennox,  I  tell  you  frankly  that  if 


AUNT  SERENA.  209 

you  inquire  about  me  in  families  that  you  will  know 
here,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten  you  will  hear  some 
thing  unfavorable.  You  may  think  I  exaggerate  my 
own  importance,"  and  she  smiled  somewhat  bitterly, 
"  but  I  assure  you  I  do  not.  I  am  only  a  Conserva 
tory  girl ;  but  whenever  I  am  spoken  of  at  all,  the 
chances  are  that  it  is  with  a  curl  of  the  lip." 

"If  it's  merely  a  question  of  lip-curling!"  and 
Rose's  sweet  mouth  broke  into  innumerable  scornful 
curves. 

"  I  wish  it  were  only  that,  dear.  I  think  I  ought 
to  make  you  understand  this,  Miss  Lennox,"  Ger 
trude  went  on.  "  I  do  not  feel  as  if  you  were  quite 
aware  exactly  how  people  speak  of  me.  This 
thought  embarrasses  me  often,  and  most  when  you 
are  kindest.  I  could  not  let  Rose  associate  with 
me  unless  you  knew.  I  could  no  more  deny  myself 
the  delight  of  knowing  you  and  coming  to  you  here, 
than  I  could  turn  away  from  food  and  drink  when 
starving ;  but  as  to  riding  horseback  and  going 
everywhere  wilh  Rose,  publicly  "  — 

"Gertrude  Peyton,"  cried  Rose,  "are  you  as 
crazy  as  the  rest  of  them? " 

"  My  dear  child,"  and  Miss  Lennox  spoke  with 
mild  but  perceptible  hauteur,  "  may  I  inquire  for 
what  j'ou  take  us?  " 

Gertrude  looked  blankly  from  one  to  the  other. 

"Do  you  not  see  that  you  attribute  to  us  the 
meanest  kind  of  meanness?  "  exclaimed  Rose. 

"  She  is  actually  warning  us  against  herself,  poor 
lamb,"  thought  aunt  Serena;  "but  I  cannot  seem 
to  interpret  it  so." 


210  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"  Gertrude,  you  must  admit  that  your  own  dig 
nity,  as  well  as  ours,  would  forbid  sach  •*  relation 
ship." 

"  Does  my  aunt  Serena  look  like  a  c*-o-ndestine 
person  ? ' '  inquired  Rose  solemnly. 

"  But  I  did  not  mean  that.  Rose  is  so  ber^jtiful," 
cried  Gertrude,  her  rich  voice  throbbing  with  «trong 
emotion,  "  and  so  —  clean  —  before  the  work3 ;  and 
you  do  not  know  them,  not  even  you,  Miss  Lennox, 
wise  as  you  are.  I  could  not  bear  to  have  them 
hurt  her,  and  be  myself  the  cause." 

Aunt  Serena's  face  was  calm  as  a  marble  angel's, 
as  she  took  Gertrude's  hands  in  hers. 

"  Dear,  we  may  as  well  begin  to  understand  each 
other.  In  the  first  place,  we  consider  you  our  friend, 
which  settles  half  the  question.  In  the  next  place, 
you  give  as  much  or  more  than  }*ou  take,  as  I  find 
you  a  most  desirable  companion  for  my  niece  Rosa 
mond  ;  which  settles  the  other  half.  As  to  the  peo 
ple,  whom,  by  the  way,"  and  she  smiled  with  some 
amusement,  "  I  regard  as  of  very  little  importance, 
we  will  take  them  slowly  —  one  by  one  —  as  they 
come." 

A  great  light  shone  out  of  Gertrude's  eyes.  ' '  You 
think  me  good  for  Rose,  me?  "  she  faltered,  breath 
less  with  joy.  "  You  not  only  tolerate  me  and  are 
kind  to  me,  but  you  think  me  of  use  to  you?  " 

"  Don't  you  know  it,  you  clever,  dull  girl?  "  and 
Rose's  glad,  caressing  tones,  full  of  sweetness,  full 
of  laughter,  sank  into  the  depths  of  Gertrude's 
heart.  "  Are  you  too  blind  to  see  that  we  love  you 


AUNT  SERENA.  211 

and  admire  you?  That  your  heroic  little  finger  ia 
worth  all  of  me  and  many  like  me  ?  That  you  make 
me  ashamed  of  my  easy  life?  That  you  are  the 
dearest,  loveliest,  and  bravest  of  girls?  And  that 
I  am  proud  to  form  an  alliance  with  you,  offensive 
and  defensive  ?  " 

Gertn.de  gave  one  long  sigh  of  pure  happiness. 

"  And  you  do  not  even  ask  me  what  they  say?  " 

"  I  do  not  in  the  least  care  to  know,"  said  aunt 
Serena  tranquilly. 

"  But  now  I  want  to  tell  you  all ;  "  and  Gertrude 
sprang  to  her  feet,  and  stood  with  her  illumined  face 
before  them.  "I  want  to  tell  you  that  there  is 
not  one  act  or  word  or  thought  of  mine  that  I  am 
ashamed  to  show  you.  I  have  pretended  not  to 
care  for  the  people,  but  I  do  care.  They  hurt  me. 
They  wound  me.  They  kill  me.  I  have  tried  not 
to  be  weak  enough  to  pity  myself;  but  sometimes  I 
could  not  help  being  sorry  for  that  girl  who  was  so 
very  much  alone,  and  working  so  hard,  and  trying 
only  to  find  a  way  to  make  a  home  for  her  little 
sister,  and  always  hunted  down.  I  do  not  blame 
the  people,  at  least  not  many  of  them.  But  they 
hurt  me.  At  first  everybody  was  kind  at  the  Con 
servatory.  Now  the  Americans  avoid  me.  The 
German  girls  are  gentle,  but  shy.  Thev  do  not 
understand ;  and  why  should  they  go  out  of  their 
own  circles?  The  Americans,  at  best,  are  enigmas 
to  thorn.  Then,  if  my  own  country-women  think  me 
queer,  they  must  evidently  have  some  cause.  Some 
of  the  American  girls  were  cordial ;  but  when  they 


212  AUNT  SEEENA. 

found  I  did  not  know  Mrs.  Van  Reusalaer,  and  Mrs. 
Raymond,  and  the  others,  they  gradually  dropped 
me.  I  have  always  been  praised  by  my  masters, 
and  I  hope  it  is  not  ill-natured  in  me  to  say  that 
Kitty  Van  Rensalaer  seemed  to  consider  herself 
personally  aggrieved  by  my  progress.  She  stared 
at  me,  without  returning  my  good-morning,  as  I 
went  in  to  my  piano-lesson,  and  she  came  out,  one 
day.  This  was  sufficient  to  exclude  me  from  the 
polite  world." 

"But  you  are  all  children !"  said  Mrs.  Lennox 
surprised. 

"  We  are  very  precocious  children,  and  Kitty  repre 
sents  her  mamma,"  Gertrude  replied  with  a  smile. 
"Much  begins  with  us  children.  Kitty  Van  Ren 
salaer  and  some  others  were,  to  speak  plainly, 
jealous  of  m}*  music.  They  need  not  have  been," 
she  said  sadly.  "  It  was  all  I  had.  But  they  did 
not  know  that.  Kitty  is  not  malicious,  I  think. 
She  merely  likes  to  be  first." 

"Gertrude,"  said  Rose  suddenly,  "you  talk  to 
me  as  if  I  were  a  sleepy  kitten,  only  fit  to  curl  itself 
up  and  purr.  Now,  I  am  going  to  surprise  you  with 
my  knowledge  of  the  world.  You  are  a  very  dis 
tinguished-looking  girl.  They  were  jealous  of  more 
than  3"our  music." 

"  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said  Gertrude  simply 
'  My  pale,  dull  face  "  — 

"So  it  began  with  those  young  girls?"  asked 
Miss  Lennox,  ignoring  the  interruption. 

"  Yes  ;  and  I  began  to  have  my  old  Pariah  feeling 


AUNT  SERENA.  213 

again  :  although,  as  far  as  I  know,  people  here  do  not 
know  about  that,"  and  she  looked  at  aunt  Serena 
significantly.  "And  I  was  cold,  and  made  no  ad 
vances  to  any  one,  and  stalked  grimly  in  and  out  of 
the  Conservator}' ;  and  no  one  had  a  good  word  for 
me,  except  the  professors.  Then,  when  one  of  them 
happened  to  make  that  remark  about  my  voice,  I 
was  at  once  studying  for  the  stage  ;  and  soon  I  had 
already  been  an  actress  in  the  remote  past ;  and  this 
was  quite  enough  to  frighten  the  timid  girls,  —  and 
girls  have  right  instincts,  do  they  not?  Of  course, 
if  my  peers  condemn  me,  I  am  lost.  All  the  time  I 
worked,  and  wrote  little  letters  to  Ruth,  and  drew 
myself  more  and  more  into  my  shell ;  and  I  never 
have  been  able  to  assimilate  with  any  of  the  ladies 
in  the  house,"  with  which  quiet  remark  she  disposed 
of  the  pension. 

"  Then  came  the  von  Falkenstein  episode." 

Into  Gertrude's  face  darted  the  look  of  careless, 
girlish  amusement  that  aunt  Serena  had  gladly 
noticed  before. 

"Which  is,  it  would  seem,  not  a  very  serious 
affair,"  she  said  encouragingly. 

"Which  is  pure  comedy,"  Gertrude  answered, 
' '  except  in  its  consequences ;  and  they  have  done 
me  much  harm." 

' '  Gertrude,  I  am  devoured  by  curiosity.  I  thought 
you  would  never  come  to  the  lieutenant.  Molly 
and  Daisy  themselves  could  not  be  more  excited 
than  I." 

"I  am  glad  it  is  comedy,  dear.     You  certainly 


214  AUNT  SERENA. 

have  a  right  to  it.  You  have  been  telling  me  much 
of  a  different  nature.  May  I  say  for  your  comfort, 
that  j'ou  have  lived  so  much  in  your  nineteen  j'ears, 
and  your  inner  life  is  so  much  richer  than  that 
of  the  people  who  have  been  careless  enough  to 
pain  you,  I  think  3-011  need  not  be  cast  down?" 

Gertrude  said  with  grave  thankfulness,  — 

"  Now  that  I  have  you,  yes.  It  is  all  different 
when  one  is  quite  alone.  The  evenings  are  long, 
and  one  sits  and  thinks.  But  it  is  quite  possible 
that  I  have  exaggerated  little  things,"  she  said 
brightly.  Already  the  people  seemed  kinder  to 
her. 

"  Now  for  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein,"  and  in  her 
eyes  came  the  laughter.  "  No  one  but  you  would 
believe  me :  but,  indeed,  he  is  the  nicest  boy  in 
the  world,  and  quite  a  boy,  not  much  older  than  I 
am;  and  that  is  young  for  a  man." 

"He  has  a  bright,  boyish  face,"  said  aunt 
Serena,  with  certain  reasons  for  having  a  strong 
interest  in  this  narrative. 

"He  reminds  me  of  Harold  when  he  rides  by," 
said  Rose,  "  with  his  fair  hair  and  fresh  color,  and 
debonair  look." 

"He  has  meant  no  harm,"  Gertrude  went  on 
eagerly,  "and  whatever  fault  there  may  have  been 
is  wholly  my  own.  In  the  first  place,  the  way  we 
met  was  most  extraordinary  and  romantic,  or 
ridiculous,  as  one  pleases  to  regard  it.  It's  quite 
a  long  story.  One  day  in  the  street  I  met  one  of 
the  Dresden  school-girls.  She  was  making  a  little 


AUNT    SERENA.  215 

journey  with  her  father,  and  was  in  "Wyiiburg  only 
for  that  clay.  She  was  a  good-natured,  quiet  Ger 
man  girl,  whom  I  had  not  known  very  well ;  but  she 
seemed  moderately  glad  to  see  a  familiar  face  :  and 
when  they  politely  asked  me  to  drive  with  them, 
and  do  some  sight-seeing,  and  dine  with  them  at 
the  hotel  afterwards,  you  can  imagine  how  glad  I 
was  to  accept.  Frau  Rudolph  looked  as  pleased  as 
possible  when  they  called  for  me.  She  came  herself 
to  the  carriage,  and  gave  me  the  house-keys,  which 
are  also  the  keys  which  unlock  the  Falkenstein 
mystery,  and  are  as  fatal  as  Bluebeard's." 

"  The  keys  ?  "  said  aunt  Serena  inquiringly.  "  We 
have  but  one.  The  key  to  the  inner  entrance-door. 
The  main  door  of  our  floor." 

"  Yes.  But  you  have  not  been  out  evenings  yet ; 
and  by  day  the  iron  gate  and  the  house-door  are 
never  closed,  you  know.  "When  you  have  once  come 
in  after  ten  you  will  appreciate  the  ponderosity  of 
German  precautions.  I  had  not  before  been  out 
late,  and  had  not  my  three  keys  together,  as  I  have 
now  ; ' '  and  she  drew  them  from  her  pocket  for  in 
spection.  "I  had  not  any  keys  at  all,  in  fact. 
Fi  au  Rudolph  thought  I  might  not  come  home  early, 
and  so  kindly  provided  me  with  the  means  of 
entrance. 

"  We  took  our  drive,  and  did  not  come  back  to 
the  hotel  until  nine.  Then  we  had  some  suppers 
and  it  was  quite  eleven  when  my  friends  walked  up 
to  the  house  with  me.  I  felt  elated,  like  any  girl 
who  has  friends  and  goes  out  to  drive.  One  ac- 


216  AUNT  SEE  EN  A. 

customs  one's  self  so  quickly  to  pleasant  things,  you 
know.  They  stood  there  chatting  on  the  pavement 
as  I  unlocked  the  great  gate  with  key  No.  1,  closed 
it,  and  re-locked  it.  Then  they  waited  until  I  had 
walked  through  the  little  court,  applied  key  No.  2 
to  the  lock  of  the  house-door,  after  which  they  could 
not  possibly  do  any  more  for  me  than  to  wish  me  a 
kind  good-night.  Between  us  was  a  locked  gate. 
They  had  brought  me  safely  home.  Their  minds 
were  at  rest,  so  was  mine.  They  walked  away  ;  and 
I  opened  the  heavy  door,  closed  it  behind  me, 
locked  it,  and  stood  in  utter  darkness  at  the  foot  of 
the  little  first  flight,  carefully  putting  my  two  great 
keys  in  my  pocket.  Then,  with  perfect  composure, 
I  grasped  my  little  glass-door  key  which  was  to  let 
me  into  Frau  Rudolph's  habitation,  and,  feeling  my 
way  with  my  feet,  began  to  ascend. 

"  It  seemed  very  comical  to  me  to  be  stealing  up 
stairs  like  a  thief  in  the  night.  I  can  give  you  no 
idea  of  the  darkness.  It  was  perfectly  black.  I 
went  on  slowly,  but  cheerfully,  wondering  if  every 
body  over  here  had  had  the  same  curious  experience  ; 
presuming  that  genteel  people  ordered  their  maids  or 
footmen  when  they  went  out  to  tea  ;  trying  to  decide 
upon  the  best  mode  of  action  in  case  one  has  neither ; 
and  determining  that  if  ever  I  should  be  invited 
anywhere  again,  I  would,  at  least,  provide  myself 
with  a  box  of  matches  and  a  taper.  I  crept  up  the 
first  little  flight,  and  the  long  flight,  and  came  to 
our  door.  Gently,  so  that  I  should  wake  no  one, 
I  put  the  key  in,  and  tried  to  turn  it.  To  my  great 


AUNT  SERENA.  217 

amazement  it  would  not  turn.  In  vain  I  strained 
my  wrist,  and  nearly  sprained  my  thumb.  I  drew  it 
out,  aud  inserted  it  in  a  different  way,  in  a  wily  and 
enticing  manner ;  but  neither  by  force  nor  art  could 
I  turn  that  key  a  hair's-breadth.  It  was  incredible. 
I  felt  annoyed.  I  turned,  looked  behind  me,  and 
saw  only  a  faint  glimmer  over  the  stairs.  It  was 
not  light.  It  was  only  a  little  less  black,  and 
showed  where  the  ground-glass  window  was.  I  knew 
that  people  in  the  dark  become  strangely  confused, 
and  it  occurred  to  me  I  might  have  come  up  too 
many  nights.  I  was  sure  I  had  not,  but  something 
was  wrong.  It  might  be  I.  So  back  I  crept  down 
the  stairs,  counting  them,  clinging  to  the  balusters, 
slow,  and  determined  not  to  be  nervous  and  foolish. 
I  went  down  the  long  flight.  Right  so  far.  I 
crossed  the  little  landing.  I  went  down  the  short 
flight.  I  stood  in  the  lower  corridor,  and  put  my 
hands  on  the  massive  house-door.  There  was  no 
mistake.  I  was  still  quite  cool,  and  once  more  made 
my  deliberate  ascent  of  the  very  slippery  stairway, 
counting  again  with  painful  decision,  and  with  re 
newed  hope  applied  my  perverse  key  to  Frau  Ru 
dolph's  entrance-door.  The  result  was  as  before. 
There  is  no  help  for  it,  I  thought :  I  must  ring,  and 
wake  them  all.  I  am  sorry,  but  I  have  done  my 
best ;  and  I  cannot  sit  on  the  stairs  all  night.  So 
I  rang,  timidly,  reluctantl}-,  deprecatingly,  because  I 
must,  and  not  because  I  would.  The  bell  sounded 
but  too  loud,  I  thought,  in  the  silent  night.  Eager 
to  enter,  I  pressed  my  cheek  against  the  door.  No 


218  AUNT  SERENA. 

one  carne.  Not  a  sound  could  I  hear.  Then  I 
rang  again,  boldly,  repeatedly,  with  no  hesitation 
or  scruples  ;  the  bell  pealed  out  without  mercy,  and 
the  wire  shook  angrily ;  then  the  noise  died  away, 
acd  utter  silence  followed;  and  I  was  there  alone, 
and,  as  far  as  I  knew,  likely  to  be  there  until 
morning.  I  was  desperate ;  pulled  the  bell  and 
worked  at  the  lock  by  turns  until  I  was  tired.  I 
am  ashamed  to  say  I  grew  nervous.  It  may  have 
been  the  strong  tea  which  I  had  drunk  at  the  hotel ; 
but  I  began  to  see  grinning,  ghastly  faces  in  the 
darkness,  hands  reached  out  to  clutch  me.  I  heard 
all  the  clocks  strike  twelve,  and  then  the  little  silver 
bell  of  the  church-tower.  I  seized  the  door,  shook 
it  and  pounded  it  frantically  ;  but  I  had  only  lame 
knuckles  for  my  pains.  I  repeated  poetry  to  take 
up  the  time.  I  remembered  Constance  de  Beverley 
and  the  vestal  virgins,  and  the  poor  man  immured 
in  the  foundations  of  the  Rath  Haus  at  old  Rothen- 
burg  on  the  Tauber,  and  all  the  appalling  tales  I 
had  ever  read  of  dark  dungeons  growing  smaller 
each  day  until  they  crushed  the  unhappy  wretch 
within ;  and  though  I  knew  I  was  in  the  corridor, 
witli  six  long  flights,  and  air  enough  for  an  army,  I 
felt  half  suffocated.  You  have  no  idea  of  the  fool 
ish,  extravagant  fancies  I  had,  or  how  dreadful  the 
darkness  grew. 

"  Soon  after  twelve  the  iron  gate  opened  and 
closed  with  a  loud  clang.  I  heard  a  heavy,  stum 
bling  step,  and  then  the  slam  of  the  house-door.  I 
shrank  back  into  the  corner  and  faced  the  stairway, 


AUNT  SEEENA.  219 

my  eyes  staring  towards  the  invisible  approaching 
figure.  Very  slowly,  step  by  step,  the  man  came 
nearer  and  nearer,  so  near  that  the  fumes  of  liquor 
reached  me  as  he  passed ;  and  it  seemed  to  me  he 
must  touch  me.  I  scarcely  breathed  until  he  had 
mounted  to  the  very  top  of  the  house,  and  shut  a 
door  behind  him.  I  felt  faint  from  fright.  I 
thought  I  would  go  out  in  the  street.  It  would  be 
lighter  there,  and  one  would  not  be  so  penned  i  p. 
I  could  at  least  run  away  if  any  thing  should 
frighten  me.  Suddenly  the  iron  gate  clanged  again, 
and  again  my  heart  stood  still.  Presently  the  great 
house-door  closed,  gently  this  time ;  and  on  the 
stairs  sounded  a  firm,  even  step,  the  clicking  of 
spurs,  and  a  swinging  sabre.  It  was  ah1  like  the 
pealing  of  joy-bells  to  me.  Now  I  am  safe.  Now 
my  distress  is  over.  I  thought,  with  the  inborn 
confidence  with  which  an  American  girl  relies  upon 
even  a  stranger's  protection,  '  This  is  the  young 
lieutenant.  They  all  speak  well  of  him.  He  will 
take  care  of  me,  and  open  that  dreadful  door.'  He 
came  on  rapidly.  He  must  have  been  on  the  fourth 
or  fifth  stair  from  the  landing  where  I  stood  strain 
ing  my  eyes  to  see  him,  when,  in  a  tolerably  cheer 
ful  voice,  all  things  considered,  I  began,  '  Oh,  if 
you  please,  Herr  Lieutenant ' —  '  Who  is  there?  ' 
a  stern  voice  thundered  at  me  ;  and  not  another  step 
did  the  young  man  take.  There  he  stood,  on  guard, 
or  his  step,  and  there  I  stood  on  mine,  disappointed, 
trembling,  more  alarmed  than  I  had  been  at  all,  and 
utterly  at  a  loss  to  know  why  he  was  so  appalling. 


220  AUNT  SERENA. 

A  woeful  figure  indeed  I  was,  not  worth  his  chal 
lenge  ;  but  this  the  darkness  did  not  reveal.  Of 
course,  absorbed  in  my  own  troubles,  I  did  not  real 
ize  the  effect  of  my  voice  upon  him,  rising  as  it  did 
from  midnight  shades. 

"We  both  stood  in  silence,  how  long  I  do  not 
know. 

"  '  Who  is  there? '  he  growled  again. 

"  He  has  told  me  since  that  I  sounded  as  if  I 
were  about  to  burst  into  tears  as  I  answered,  in  a 
feeble  and  disconnected  manner,  '  I  am  sure,  I  think 
it  is  very  trying.  I  have  stood  here  in  the  dark  an 
hour  and  a  half  at  least,  and  I  thought  you  would 
open  it.' 

"Without  abandoning  his  position,  he  discreetly 
lighted  a  match.  By  its  flickering  and  insufficient 
flame  I  saw  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  in  gala  uni 
form,  and  he  saw  me.  Obviously  I  was  not  intim 
idating.  The  match  went  out ;  and  he,  with  a  mar 
vellously  softened  voice,  said,  — 

"'Open  what?' 

"  '  The  door,  of  course,'  said  I  with  some  irrita 
tion. 

"  '  Oh.  the  door !     Do  you  live  here  ? ' 

"  '  Yes,  when  I  can  get  in,'  I  answered  again  not 
very  amiably. 

"  He  gave  a  little  subdued  laugh.  I  am  afraid  I 
laughed  as  well.  It  was  so  delicious  to  have  some 
one  to  speak  to.  He  seemed  companionable  and 
kind.  My  spirits  rose.  He  lighted  another  match. 
Again  I  saw  his  blond  face,  grave  and  civil,  but 


AUNT  SERENA.  221 

with  a  gleam  of  mirth  in  it :  then  the  blue  and  silver 
of  his  uniform  vanished  in  the  darkness.  He  came 
forward. 

"  '  I  beg  your  pardon.  Will  you  give  me  your 
key?' 

"  '  Our  hands  met  awkwardly  in  the  darkness. 
He  took  the  key,  and  tried  to  turn  it  in  the  lock. 
I  must  confess  I  felt  a  sensation  of  relief  as  well  as 
perplexity  when  he,  with  his  man's  strength,  suc 
ceeded  no  better  than  I.  He  then  tried  his  own 
keys,  with  no  better  result. 

"'If  you  will  kindly  wait  an  instant,'  he  said 
very  civilly. 

"I  laughed  again.  What  could  I  do  but  wait? 
'  I  have  been  waiting  since  a  little  after  eleven 
o'clock,'  I  said  demurely.  '  I  think  a  minute  more 
or  less  won't  matter.' 

"  '  I  was  about  to  say  that  I  would  go  up  to  my 
rooms,  bring  a  lantern  and  all  my  keys,  and  then  I 
am  sure  I  can  open  it.' 

"  '  Thanks.     If  you  will  be  so  kind.' 

"  He  had  sprung  half  wajr  up  the  next  flight, 
when  —  it  seems  strange,  but  it  was  a  night  of  won 
ders,  you  know  —  I  heard  some  one  on  the  inside 
of  our  door,  and  it  softly  opened. 

"' Don't  open  it  wide,  for  the  world,  Miss  Pey- 
lor,'  whispered  a  voice  ineffably  modest  in  spite 
of  the  darkness.  '  I  am  in  such  dishabille.  I 
should  expire  if  your  friend  should  see  me.' 

"  '  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein,'  I  called  out,  '  I  shall 
not  need  your  lantern.  I  thank  you  very  much  for 
your  kindness.  Good-night.' 


222  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"And  before  he  could  reply,  I  slipped  through, 
and  stood  at  last  safe  in  the  inner  corridor. 

"The  lady  who  let  me  in  lighted  a  candle, 
and"  — 

"  Who  was  the  lady?  "  asked  Miss  Lennox.  "  It 
is  not  idle  curiosity  that  leads  me  to  inquire,  Ger 
trude." 

"  It  was  Mrs.  Vivien." 

"  Ah?  and  why,  then,  had  not  Mrs.  Vivien  opened 
the  door  before?  " 

"  She  said  she  had  heard  a  fumbling  at  the  lock, 
and  thought  it  might  be  one  of  the  students  in  an 
intoxicated  condition ;  and  then  she  went  to  sleep 
again.  Of  course  it  did  not  devolve  upon  her  to 
open  the  door.  She  slept  through  all  the  bell- 
ringing,  she  said.  She  was  only  roused  the  second 
time  by  the  man's  voice,"  —  Gertrude  explained, 
innocent  of  any  attempt  at  satire,  —  "her  room 
being  next  to  the  door." 

"  She  must  be  a  sound  sleeper,"  said  aunt  Serena 
dryly.  "  Where  was  Frau  Rudolph?  " 

"  Curiously  enough,  out  of  the  house.  That  one 
night  she  staid  with  her  sister  whose  child  was  ill." 

"  And  the  servants?  " 

"  Oh,  they  sleep  in  the  attic." 

"  And  why  did  not  Babele  come  for  you,  and  bring 
you  home  properly?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  Frau  Eudolph  did  not  know 
what  time  to  send  her  perhaps ;  and  then,  my 
friends  proposed  bringing  me  home." 

'•'  Ani  what  was  the  matter  with  the  key  ?  " 


AUNT  SERENA.  223 

"  That  was  the  grand  misfortune.  It  was  a  mis 
take  of  the  locksmith,  who  had  sent  home  new  keys 
that  da}'.  Frau  Rudolph  took  it  for  granted  it  was 
right,  and  had  not  tried  this  one.  The  man  hud 
nerer  made  a  mistake  before." 

"  Did  Mrs.  Vivien  understand  it  all?  " 

"Perfectly.  She  was  really  kind  that  night. 
She  insisted  upon  coming  into  my  room  and  giving 
me  something  warm  to  drink ;  and  I  told  her  the 
whole  story.  She  laughed  immoderately,  I  remem 
ber." 

Aunt  Serena  looked  grave. 

"  She  knew  that  you  had  never  spoken  with  Lieut, 
von  Falkenstein  before?  " 

"Oh,  yes!  She  has  never  troubled  me  about 
that,"  Gertrude  added  frankly.  "  Of  course  I  do 
not  pretend  to  like  her.  We  do  not  sympathize. 
But  even  she,  I  think,  would  not  misrepresent  any 
thing  so  palpably  innocent  as  that  experience.  The 
next  day  she  shook  her  finger  at  me,  and  said,  '  Oh, 
you  sly  rogue  !  Girls  will  be  girls.'  I  did  not  know 
what  she  meant,  and  never  asked." 

"  Gertrude,  you  are  ungrateful,"  said  Rosamond. 
"  Do  you  know  nothing  ever  happened  to  me  in  all 
my  life  so  interesting  as  this  adventure  with  a  beau 
tiful  blue-and-silver  lieutenant?  " 

"But  it  has  not  resulted  well,  unfortunately," 
Gertrude  continued.  "  The  next  day  he  came  to 
Frau  Rudolph,  and  asked  how  the  young  lady  wss 
who  had  such  an  unpleasant  experience,  —  if  she 
had  taken  cold,  — if  she  was  quite  recovered." 


224  AUNT  SERENA. 

"Frau  Rudolph  considered  his  solicitude  not  un 
natural,  and  let  me  answer  for  myself,  in  her  little 
reception-room  and  in  her  presence.  Of  course  we 
could  not  be  very  formal  after  so  absurd  a  meeting. 
Ho  described  his  own  perturbation.  '  How  was  I 
to  know? '  said  he.  '  Why,  you  might  have  been  a 
thief,  or  a  murderer,  or  an  —  any  thing !  '  and  he 
told  me  the  flickering  match  had  revealed  such  a 
white,  imploring  face,  his  wrath  at  being  startled 
was  appeased  at  once.  He  has,  since  then,  seen 
me  there  in  Frau  Rudolph's  presence  about  once  in 
six  weeks;  and  then,  —  I  have  been  to  walk  with 
him  three  times." 

"  And  is  that  your  veiy  worst  crime,  Gertrude?  " 
said  aunt  Serena  pleasantly,  but  with  a  strongly 
observant  expression. 

"It  is  a  crime  here,"  the  your>g  girl  admitted. 
"  I  know  that  perfectly  well.  But  I  was  recklese, 
because  I  had  nothing  to  lose.  I  was  avoided.  I 
was  pointed  out  as  eccentric  and  queer.  I  had  been 
an  actress,  was  going  to  be  an  actress,  was  an 
actress :  as  if  that  in  itself  were  an}*  harm,  had  it 
been  true.  I  do  not  wish  to  exculpate  myself.  Of 
course  I  might  have  been  careful  and  discreet  still. 
But  the  truth  is,  it  hardly  seemed  worth  while.  I 
had  done  the  best  I  could,  and  every  thing  was  as 
uncomfortable  as  possible.  So  I  thought,  why  need 
I  try  to  please  the  world  ?  ' ' 

"  And  you  pleased  yourself,  and  went  to  walk 
with  the  young  baron?  " 

"Yes." 


AUNT  SERENA.  225 

"How  did  it  happen,  dear?"  aunt  Serena  asked 
in  her  quiet,  friendly  way.  "  I  must  plead  guilty  to 
vast  interest  in  the  lieutenant.  I  share  the  weak 
ness  of  Daisy  and  Molly  and  my  niece." 

"  I  am  always  inclined  to  laugh  when  I  allude  to 
him.  It  is  all,  to  speak  plainly,  such  a  tempest  in 
a  teapot.  It  looks  so  ominous,  and  is,  in  reality,  so 
funny.  The  first  time  I  walked  with  him,  it  was 
an  accident.  It  was  broad  daylight,  five  o'clock ; 
and  I  was  hurrying  home,  and  met  him  two  blocks 
from  the  house,  coming  the  same  way.  I  had  seen 
him  repeatedly,  then,  you  know  ;  and  we  had  never 
been  very  ceremonious.  It  was  hardly  possible 
after  that  absurd  midnight  meeting." 

"  Naturally,"  acquiesced  aunt  Serena. 

"  So  we  walked  on  together,  chatting  and  laugh 
ing.  He  is  very  amusing  and  light-hearted.  I  was 
not  aware  that  the  strictest  person  would  object.  I 
did  not  think  of  etiquette,  in  fact.  But  we  met 
Molly  and  Daisy's  awe-struck  faces  at  the  gate  ;  and 
I  saw  Mrs.  Vivien  at  the  window  ;  and  at  supper 
the  colonels'  lambs  seemed  to  shrink  smaller  and 
smaller,  in  their  desire  to  get  away  from  me ;  and 
Mrs.  Lancaster's  virtuous  air  was  conspicuously 
rampant ;  and  I  was  made  to  feel  that  I  was  ostra 
cized  beyond  hope  of  recall.  I  did  not  know  whether 
to  be  angry  or  laugh.  They  all  seemed  very  petty 
and  contemptible.  I  am  afraid  I  considered  myself 
rather  superior  to  them.  Still,  they  were  stronger 
than  I ;  and  they  have  left  nothing  undone  to  show 
their  horroi  of  me  and  their  fear  of  contamination. 


226  AUNT  SERENA. 

Frau  Rudolph  went  about  chuckling,  and  often 
brought  nice  little  dishes  to  my  room ;  but  not  one 
unguarded  word  did  she  say. 

"  And  the  second  walk  was  half  an  accident.  I 
had  been  working  very  hard  all  day,  with  my  piano 
And  my  voice  ;  and  then  I  had  some  sewing  to  finish  : 
and  it  was  a  warm  evening  in  September,  some 
weeks  before  you  came.  After  supper,  about  half- 
past  seven,  I  longed  for  a  little  air.  I  thought  I 
would  take  a  brisk  walk  round  the  square.  I  ran 
down  stairs,  and  met  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  at  the 
gate." 

"Accidentally?"  said  aunt  Serena. 

"Accidentally,"  replied  Gertrude  firmly,  with 
clear,  unshrinking  eyes.  "He  stopped  short,  and 
asked  me  if  he  might  not  escort  me  wherever  I  was 
going.  I  said  I  was  going  nowhere.  Then  he 
asked  if  he  might  not  go  nowhere  with  me.  It  was 
not  very  brilliant,  but  we  both  laughed." 

'  'And  you  said  yes  ?  ' ' 

"  Yes.  I  thought  it  would  be  pleasant,"  remarked 
Gertrude  with  naivete.  "And  it  was  pleasant.  We 
went  very  much  farther  than  round  the  square.  We 
walked  to  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  looked  back  at 
the  city-lights.  It  was  very  nice  and  breezy." 

"This  is  the  most  thrillingly  interesting  romance 
I  ever  heard,"  said  Rose,  laughing.  "  Was  it  very, 
very  late  when  you  came  home  ? ' ' 

"It  was  nine,  and  they  all  knew.  It  made  a 
grand  excitement  in  the  pension.  And  it  was  after 
that,  I  think,  that  the  vague  rumors  began  to  pre- 


AUNT  SERENA.  227 

ciser  themselves ;  and  they  said  the  worst  possible 
things."  Gertrude  colored. 

Miss  Lennox  nodded  gravely. 

"  I  suppose  I  ought  to  feel  differently  alx>ut  it. 
Sometimes  I  am  scornful  and  indignant ;  but  some 
times  I  really  do  not  feel  it  at  aU.  Perhaps  I  have 
grown  callous.  If  they  should  say  I  was  too  inde 
pendent  and  unamiable  and  defiant  and  indiscreet, 
I  should  feel  it,  and  know  that  it  was  true.  But 
they  go  too  far,  they  go  too  far !  It  is  all  so  impos 
sibly  remote  from  me.  A  girl  can't  feel  it,  when  she 
hears  she  is  a  murderer  or  a  thief,  or  has  poisoned  all 
ner  family,  or  any  thing  like  that  " — 

"And  the  third  time,  my  dear?  " 

"The  third  tune  was  the  evening  before  3rour 
first  appearance  at  the  dinner-table  ;  and  it  was  no 
accident  at  all,  but  a  well-organized  plan.  He 
asked  me  to  go.  I  wanted  to  go,  and  I  went.  We 
had  a  long  walk  and  a  very  earnest  talk." 

There  was  a  slight  pause.  At  length  aunt  Serena 
said,  — 

"  Gertrude,  I  think  I  understand  you.  But  I  do 
not  understand  Frau  Rudolph  or  this  young  man." 

"It  is  the  rule  of  Frau  Rudolph's  life  never  to 
interfere,"  said  the  girl  quietly.  "I  think,  upon 
the  whole,  she  does  right.  She  is  very  wise.  And 
she  did  go  so  far  once  as  to  show  her  kindly  feeling 
towards  me.  She  brought  a  little  plate  of  maca 
roons  to  my  room,  and  said  in  her  queer  wa}*,  — 

"  '  Friiulein  Gertrude,  you  are  good/muZem,  and,' 
with  a  significant  jerk  of  her  thumb  towards  the 


228  AUNT  SERENA. 

next  floor,  *  he  no  harm.  But  they,' —  and  she  gave 
a  comprehensive  wave  of  her  two  fat  arms,  as  if  to 
encircle  the  universe,  but  no  one  in  particular,  — 
'  great  fools.  Poor  little  one  frdulein  fight  too 
much  great  fools ;  she  get  hurt,  she  get  dead,  i  nd 
who  sorrows?  What  for  is  that  good,  to  fight  so 
strong  old  fools  ? '  And  in  a  twinkling  she  drew 
herself  up  with  an  unmistakable  Imitation  of  Mrs. 
Lancaster ;  then  as  suddenly  gave  a  side-glance, 
and  looked  deprecating,  like  Mrs.  Vivien,  and  went 
off  with  her  usual  chuckle." 

"  She  is  an  estimable  woman,"  said  aunt  Serena 
heartily.  "And,  Gertrude,  she  told  }'ou  the  truth. 
But  I  am  not  going  to  begin  my  homily  at  present. 
I  wish  to  return  to  our  lieutenant.  What  is  his  posi 
tion  in  the  matter?  How  does  he  reconcile  it  with 
his  own  ideas  of  etiquette?  I  ask  you  directly,  my 
child,  as  if  3*011  were  Rosamond." 

Gertrude  smiled,  well  pleased,  and  in  her  simple, 
frank  manner  said,  — 

"  I  think  at  first  he  wanted  to  be  'American.' 
He  has  met  nice  American  girls  in  Switzerland, 
—  not  loud,  flirty  ones,  I  imagine  from  what  he  has 
said,  but  really  refined,  pleasant  girls,  —  and  he  has 
been  allowed  to  escort  them  a  short  distance  now 
and  then  ;  and  he  is  quite  enthusiastic  over  what  he 
calls  the  American  system.  He  says  girls  with  us 
are  not  so  likely  to  think  a  young  man  has  inten 
tions  as  German  girls  are,  and  not  so  sentimental ; 
and  altogether  he  raves  about  a  sensible  and  frank 
intercourse." 


AUNT  SEEENA.  229 

"  And  therefore  invites  an  unprotected  }Toung  girl 
to  take  a  late,  dark  walk  with  him,  and  considers 
that  sensible,  frank,  and  American?"  sighed  aunt 
Serena,  with,  however,  a  humorous  rather  than  a 
horrified  expression.  "Oh,  my  country,  thou  art 
still  an  undiscovered  land  !  " 

Gertrude  laughed.  "  I  know  it.  I  know  it.  Of 
course  it  seems  so  even  to  you.  But  indeed  he  is 
not  to  blame.  He  told  me  that  last  time  that  he 
was  extremely  annoyed  to  find  people  were  gossip- 
ping,  and  he  begged  me  not  to  misunderstand  if  he 
did  not  even  call  again  very  soon  ;  and  he  was  ex 
cessively  indignant.  Really,  I  think  he  is  simply 
sorry  for  me.  Frau  Rudolph  has  told  him  I  was 
alone,  and  that  I  worked  hard,  and  had  few  pleas 
ures.  It  seemed  natural  to  me  that  he  should  call 
and  ask  her  how  I  was,  and  not  surprising  when  he 
came  again.  Of  course,  he  might  have  been  a  dif 
ferent  kind  of  person.  But  in  that  case  I  think  I 
should  also  have  been  different,"  she  said  with  her 
little  dignified  air.  "  I  would  not  have  seen  him 
if  he  had  been  bold  and  familiar,  as  some  of  the 
officers  look,  even  like  some  people  whom  my  cous 
ins  receive  in  New  York,  and  whom  I  found  unen 
durable.  For,  after  all,  it  isn't  the  nation,  but  the 
nature,  that  makes  the  difference.  He  is  merry,  yet 
always  respectful.  You  know,  I  had  seen  him  with 
Frau  Rudolph  many  times  for  a  half  an  hour  or  so, 
before  I  let  him  take  that  first  walk  with  me.  We 
are  very  good  friends.  His  light-hearted  ways  re 
fresh  me  like  a  breath  of  fresh  air.  He  has  told  me 


230  AUNT  SEEENA. 

all  about  his  family,  and  his  father's  estate,  and  hia 
own  hunting-dogs,  and  his  mother,  and  his  cousin 
Olga.  He  is  engaged  to  be  married  to  his  cousin." 

"Ah,"  said  Miss  Lennox  softly. 

"  Oh,  yes  :  and  I  have  enjoyed  him  so  much  ;  he 
is  so  sunny.  I  really  think  you  would  like  him." 

"  My  dear,  dear  child,  I  am  sure  I  should !  "  and 
aunt  Serena,  with  a  curious  mixture  of  expressions, 
rose,  walked  to  the  recessed  window,  and  stood 
a  while.  "  It  is  better  even  than  I  had  imagined," 
she  thought  with  much  satisfaction. 

"  Gertrude,  may  I  ask  3*ou  one  more  question?  " 

"  A  thousand,"  said  the  girl  joyfully. 

' '  Have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  your  first 
meeting  with  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  at  night  has 
ever  been  mentioned  in  an  unfavorable  or  a  distorted 
manner?" 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  she  said  carelessly.  "  No  one  would 
take  the  trouble  to  misrepresent  that.  Everybody 
understood  it,  and  we  were  so  obviously  irrespon 
sible." 

Aunt  Serena,  standing  by  Gertrude's  chair,  gently 
smoothed  her  cheek,  now  a  little  flushed  from  much 
speaking. 

"  Or  perhaps  it  is  being  reserved  as  the  best 
trump-card, ' '  she  added  playfully.  ' '  Who  knows  ? ' ' 

"And  you  do  not  attribute  your  troubles  to  any 
one  individual?  You  have  given  no  one  cause  to 
feel  any  personal  resentment  or  enmity  to  you  ?  ' ' 

"  No  one.  My  troubles  are  due  to  fate,  and 
people  in  general,  and  myself,"  replied  the  young 


AUNT  SERENA.  231 

girl  promptly.  "  The  ladies  do  not  like  me  here, 
because  I  am  not  of  their  kind.  I  do  not  like  them, 
because  they  are  not  of  my  kind.  They  disapprove 
of  me  thoroughly.  They  assume  what  attitude  they 
please  towards  me,  according  to  the  dictates  of  their 
various  natures,  and  are  not  careful  as  to  what  they 
say  of  me  or  any  one  else,  as  you  know.  But  still, 
they  would  not  go  out  of  their  way  to  deliberately 
do  me  harm,  I  think.  Why,  that  would  be  perse 
cution  !  I  have  never  considered  myself  quite  a 
martyr,"  she  said,  laughing.  "Indeed,  I  begin  to 
think,  to-day,  that  I  have  been  making  much  ado 
about  nothing,"  she  added,  with  a  happy,  grateful 
ring  in  her  voice. 

' '  I  have  been  forced  to  think  about  myself,  of 
course ;  but  I  have  given  up  trying  to  understand 
the  girl-question.  It  is  too  distressingly  compli 
cated.  Now,  I  know  that  one  of  our  most  admired 
and  respected  quiet  American  girls  here,  who  is  much 
liked  in  very  exclusive  foreign  circles,  said  to  a  new 
comer  from  America,  '  You  can  do  any  thing  you 
like,  and  haA7e  an  awful  amount  of  fun  with  the  offi 
cers,  —  on  the  sly,  —  only,  never  smile  at  the  theatre. 
Look  solemn  and  wearily  indifferent,  and  you'll  be 
a  success.  I'll  show  you  how  to  manage  about 
notes  and  walks.'  /  would  rather  walk  with  a  regi 
ment  of  lieutenants  than  be  capable  of  making  that 
remark." 

"  Dear,  dear !  "  sighed  good  aunt  Serena,  greatly 
dismayed.  Here  were  complications  indeed.  Here 
were  moral  difficulties  of  which  she  had  not  dreamed 


232  AUNT  SERENA. 

in  Nortlibrooke.  "Well,  let  the  statesmen  take  care 
of  the  s}^stems !  Meanwhile,  she  perhaps  could  at 
least  sweep  her  own  pavement. 

"To  return  to  your  inquiry,  there  is  Mrs.  Viv 
ien,"  Gertrude  went  on  gayly.  "A  resume  of  our 
hostilities  would  be  superfluous.  You  have  had  the 
privilege  of  frequently  seeing  our  encounters.  But 
I  must  do  her  the  justice  to  say  that  she  attacks  me 
honestly  enough  every  day  at  dinner.  It  is  true," 
she  said  thoughtfully,  "  although  we  have  always 
been  antagonistic,  she  dislikes  me  more  than  ever 
since  I  have  known  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein.  If  it 
is  not  too  petty  a  thing  to  repeat,  she  met  him  some 
where  in  society,  and  asked  him  to  call ;  and  he  went 
once,  and  never  again.  He  does  not  like  her,  and 
mereby  puts  his  heels  together  and  makes  the  funny 
little  bow  the}-  give  when  he  meets  her,  as  he  usually 
does  on  his  way  to  Frau  Rudolph's  room.  She  de 
scribed  his  visit  to  her  very  eloquently  at  dinner  one 
day,  and  spoke  of  him  as  a  dear  boy,  whom  she 
knew  so  well,  having  met  him  at  Lady  Manners's. 
And  I  was  disagreeable  enough  to  smile,  because  he 
told  me  he  had  never  seen  her  but  once ;  and  then  I 
knew  that  when  he  called  she  had  brought  out  that 
gra}7  stocking.  She  likes  young  and  aristocratic  so 
ciety.  I  suppose  she  was  annoyed  that  he  didn't 
come  again.  Still,  she  could  hardly  hold  me  re 
sponsible  for  that,  and  visit  it  upon  me." 

"Oh,  please  think  aloud,  aunt  Serena!"  said 
Rose.  "  You  look  much  too  wise.  Farewell,  peace 
ful  Northbrooke !  The  world  has  seized  my  aunt. 
She  is  full  of  guile,  and  maketh  plots  and  plans." 


AUNT  SERENA. 


"  I  must  invite  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  here," 
said  Miss  Lennox  placidly. 

Gertrude  looked  surprised  and  amused.  "  That 
would  be  charming ;  but,  Miss  Lennox,  people  will 
think  —  you  want  him  ' '  — 

"  I  do  want  him,  or  I  should  not  ask  him." 

"Yes,  — but,  for  Rose!" 

"Oh,  wheels  within  wheels!"  aunt  Serena  re 
plied  with  a  patient  smile.  "  If  they  think  that, 
they  will,  no  doubt,  have  leisure  to  —  un think  it." 

"  I  want  him  very  much,"  remarked  Rose  se 
dately.  "  I  may  take  a  walk  with  him  some  even 
ing.  And  may  Molly  and  Daisy  come  in  and  sit  in 
the  corner  and  look  at  him?  Do  you  think  such 
ecstasy  would  kill  them  ?  Do  people  who  are  young 
and  strong  ever  die  of  joy  ?  ' ' 

"Children,  we  shall  all  be  late  to  dinner.  Ger 
trude,  will  you  come  back  and  go  in  with  us?  And 
would  you,  perhaps,  like  to  call  me  aunt  Serena,  my 
dear?  It  would  not  sound  strange  to  us.  I  am 
auut  to  all  Northbrooke.  Why,  why,  you  are  not 
going  to  cry  now,  after  telling  that  brave,  long  stoi'y 
with  dry  eyes  !  Hush,  child !  Go  and  bathe  your 
face  quickly.  Age  has  its  privileges.  As  you  see, 
I  am  a  tyrant." 


234  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"  And  a  bird  overhead  sang,  Follow ; 
And  a  bird  to  the  right  sang,  Here" 

SWINBURNE. 

IT  was  not  long  before  our  friends  from  North- 
brooke  began  to  take  comfort  and  delight  in  the 
pleasant  German  city.  Fair  "Wynburg  presented 
itself  to  them  under  undeniably  favorable  auspices. 
The  pension,  it  is  true,  was  always  there  ;  but  after 
their  first  inevitable  moral  plunge  into  its  troubled 
depths,  they  were  wise  enough  to  float  in  what 
ever  shallow,  sunny  pools  they  could  discover,  and 
avoid  dangerous  quicksands.  Although  the  house 
hold  seldom  ceased  its  insidious  surprises  and  at 
tacks,  aunt  Serena  was  a  genial  philosopher,  with 
whom  it  was  impossible  to  quarrel.  Each  day  she 
began  anew  with  everybody.  Her  gentle  optimism, 
closing  its  eyes  to  the  disappointing  experience  of 
yesterday,  awaited  to-day  only  worthy  sentiments 
and  pleasing  deportment  from  all  mankind. 

Even  Rosamond,  since  the  time  her  generous 
blood  was  stirred  by  the  simple  story  of  a  girl's 
weary,  lonely  life,  had  met  all  annoyances  at  the 
table  with  imperturbable  suavity.  "  If  Gertrude," 
she  thought,  "  has  been  strong  and  brave  with  never 
a  friend  or  a  joy  to  help  her,  unless  I  am  a  coward  I 


AUNT  SERENA.  235 

shall  not  allow  these  pygmies  to  hurt  me."  Accord 
ingly  she  no  longer  changed  color  when  the  luckless 
•victims  of  Mrs.  Vivien's  poisoned  darts  were  slain 
by  scores  and  dragged  about  at  dinner.  With 
urbaue  dignity,  not  unbecoming,  and  yet  suggestivs 
of  a  rosy  child  masquerading  in  its  grandmother's 
bonnet,  she  once  heard  them  covertly  reproach  her 
aunt  for  eccentric  deportment  and  glaring  inde 
pendence.  Mrs.  Raymond  herself  could  not  have 
ignored  the  annoyance  more  loftily  than  did  Rose  on 
this  occasion,  or  have  interested  herself  more  amia 
bly  in  Molly  and  Daisy's  French.  This  was  a  proud 
moment  in  her  existence. 

"  It  is  war  all  the  same,"  she  would  say  to  Ger 
trude,  "but  it  is  a  more  scientific  kind.  I  was 
wasting  my  ammunition.  Nothing  routs  them  like 
blandness.  Aunt  Serena  meets  them  with  it,  and  so 
does  Mrs.  Raymond,  each  in  her  characteristic  fash 
ion  ;  and  both  succeed.  But  oh,  the  fortifying  that 
my  poor  spirit  requires  to  imitate  it !  " 

However,  they  liked  then-  rooms  and  Frau  Ru 
dolph  ;  and  many  beguiling  paths  led  them  away 
from  whatever  was  uncongenial  beneath  her  roof. 
Daj7  by  day  they  grew  more  intimate  with  the  Ray 
monds,  and  from  their  hospitable  house  gradually 
advanced  upon  an  agreeable  and  ever  widening 
social  plane,  which  Miss  Lennox  found  novel  and 
interesting,  and  the  young  girls  entrancing. 

Safely  convojTed,  the  two  sailed  smoothly  on, 
though  meeting  strange  and  unexpected  crafts. 
"With  amused  surprise  they  discovered  that  the  terri- 


236  AUNT  SERENA. 

ble  Lacty  Manners,  the  anticipated  Juggernaut,  vvas 
a  plain  and  unpretending  little  person,  sufficiently 
good-natured  and  rather  dull.  Mrs.  Van.  Rensalaer 
was,  it  must  be  admitted,  more  formidable.  She 
was  a  woman  who  took  the  vast  responsibilities  of 
her  ultra-fashionable  life  seriously,  drawing  lines  of 
demarcation  with  unflinching  rigor,  and  feeling  upon 
her  shoulders  the  solemn  weight  of  the  whole  Ameri 
can  colony  of  Wynburg.  But  even  she  was  mortal. 
Her  vulnerable  point  was  her  marriageable  daughter. 
This  fact  once  perceived,  she  ceased  to  inspire  un 
mitigated  awe. 

The  mighty  magnates  welcomed  Miss  Lennox 
with  distinguished  favor.  Lady  Manners,  repre 
senting  the  conservative  English,  honestly  liked  her. 
Mrs.  Van  Rensalaer,  august  leader  of  the  American 
cohorts,  pronounced  the  Lennox  name  unimpeacha 
ble.  Nothing  more  was  essential  to  make  aunt 
Serena  a  social  success  than  the  simple  influence  of 
her  quiet,  personal  charm.  The  two  girls  declared 
that  she  received  more  attention  than  a  belle  in  her 
first  season. 

Women  admired  her  unreservedly,  and,  what  is 
more  exceptional,  said  so.  They  could  not  well  be 
jealous  of  a  person  approaching  sixty-five,  however 
much  admired  she  might  be.  Sedate,  elderly  men 
who  found  the  fairest  of  the  fair  wearisome,  prefer 
ring  cards  and  their  own  cronies,  had  unlimited 
respect  for  this  sensible,  soft- voiced  little  woman, 
who  knew  something  of  politics,  liked  a  rubber  or  two 
of  whist,  and  was  rather  difficult  to  beat  at  chess. 


AUNT  SERENA.  237 

Young  men  appreciated  her  kindness,  her  pleasant 
humor,  arid  her  not  unflattering  attention  to  their 
special  hobbies.  Girls  and  children  adored  her. 
Germans  declared  that  there  was  something  intrin 
sically  German  in  her  simplicity,  her  sentiment, 
her  unwoiidliness.  Frenchmen  praised,  as  purely 
French,  her  delicate,  high-bred  air,  her  grace,  and 
polished  wit.  The  English  said  that  Miss  Lennox 
had  "so  few  Yankee  peculiarities,  you  know,"  she 
might  really  almost  be  mistaken  for  an  English 
woman.  The  Americans  proudly  claimed  her  as 
their  own,  and  exhibited  her  as  the  one  typical 
American  woman  in  German}',  —  by  an  unexplained 
process  the  direct  result  of  our  free  institutions  and 
republican  form  of  government.  Even  a  china- 
manaic,  who  had  no  interest  in  life  outside  of  his 
collection,  was  overheard  to  remark,  as  he  gazed 
upon  her  with  the  gloating  eye  of  a  connoisseur, 
that  he  had  never  seen  any  thing  merely  human  so 
like  a  bit  of  rare  and  exquisite  old  porcelain. 

Aunt  Serena,  in  the  mean  time,  moved  on  in  her 
tranquil  course,  glad  to  find  so  much  of  home  in  the 
dreaded  foreign  land,  accepting  a  discreet  few  of 
her  man}T  invitations,  devising  pleasures  for  the  girls, 
contentedly  watching  her  pretty  Rose  expand,  and 
studying  with  deep  interest  the  effects  of  a  taste  of 
joy  upon  Gertrude. 

For  Gertrude  was  at  last  happy.  "  They  say  we 
never  realize  present  happiness,"  she  would  think, 
waking  to  another  glad  da}',  and  smiling  at  herself 
in  the  glass  for  pure  content.  "Oh,  let  them  live 


238  AUNT  SEEENA. 

as  I  Lived,  and  then  as  I  live  now  !  Happy?  I  an: 
gloriously,  consciously  happy.  I  exult  in  happiness. 
I  breathe  it  in  with  deep,  full  breaths." 

She  was,  it  is  needless  to  state,  frequently  called 
a  sycophant.  Her  cringing  and  servile  devotion  to 
that  rich  old  woman  was  freely  commented  upon. 
Mrs.  Vivien  advised  her  not  to  let  herself  be  pa 
tronized.  It  did  not  look  well  in  a  girl  of  her  spirit. 
But  Gertrude  smiled  in  blessed  security.  She  had 
passed  beyond  them.  She  had  soared  to  a  higher 
sphere. 

She  had  suffered  too  much  from  the  carelessness 
or  cruelty  of  the  world  to  be  able  to  turn  suddenly 
towards  it  with  outstretched  arms.  But  she  was 
relieved  that  it  gave  her  no  more  blows,  and  was 
sufficiently  young  and  generous  to  wish  to  forget 
how  meanly  it  had  treated  her. 

No  one  knew  exactly  how  it  was  that  people  in 
general  began  to  discover  that  Miss  Peyton  was  an 
interesting  girl.  The  sheep  which  had  been  running 
in  one  direction  turned,  and  ran  violently  in  the 
other.  Aunt  Serena  made  no  defined  effort  to 
induce  her  acquaintances  to  admire  Miss  Peyton. 
She  neither  praised  her,  nor  suggested  that  her 
young  friend  was  in  need  of  peculiar  sympathy. 
She  simply  treated  her  as  she  treated  Rosamond. 
Presently  Gertrude  became  aware  of  smiling  familiar 
nods  mornings  at  the  Conservatory,  and  with  mildly 
cynical  eyes  observed  that  a  thaw  in  her  glacial 
surroundings  had  set  in.  It  was  a  clear  case  of 
"Simon  says."  That  mysterious  despot  had  for 


AUNT  SERENA.  239 

years  commanded,  "  Thumbs  down !  "  and  she  had 
been  drooping  under  their  baneful  influence.  Now 
the  invisible  Simon  said,  "Thumbs  up !  "  and  her 
spirits  rose  with  the  wagging  little  members.  She 
did  not  deceive  herself  in  regard  to  this  wondrous 
change  which  had  come  as  noiselessly  as  the  dawn 
of  day.  No  one  perceived  with  more  unerring  in 
sight  the  cumulative  effect  of  the  various  remedies 
prescribed  in  this  case  for  one  of  the  worst  ills  of 
humanity. 

Mrs.  Raymond's  carriage,  containing  Mrs.  Ray 
mond  herself,  a  distinguished-looking,  elderly  lady, 
and  a  beautiful,  bright  young  girl,  waited  a  few 
times  at  the  Conservatory  for  Miss  Peyton.  Once 
the  elegant  equipage  had  driven  up  empty ;  and 
quiet  Gertrude  in  her  brown  ulster,  music-roll  in 
hand,  her  sensitive,  satirical  mouth  smiling  unutter 
able  things,  stepped  lightly  in  past  the  obsequious 
footman.  That  day  she  found  her  circle  of  ac 
quaintance  surprisingly  large.  Alas,  that  inanimate 
objects  like  a  wooden  vehicle  and  brass  buttons 
can  thrill  with  strong  emotion  the  immortal  soul  of 
man !  Who  coiild  treat  with  indifference  a  person 
known  to  be  with  Miss  Wellesley,  the  only  young 
girl  ever  invited  to  charming  Mrs.  Raymond's  small 
Wednesday  dinners?  Miss  Peyton  was  also  seen 
at  one  of  Lady  Manners's  receptions.  It  hardly 
seemed  an  important  event.  She  stood  in  a  corner, 
and  felt  bored.  But  it  was  soon  after  that  Kitty 
Van  Rensalaer  asked  her  if  she  would  not  like  to 
try  ':  something  nice  for  four  hands, — a  Schumann 


240  AUNT  SEEENA. 

symphony  perhaps."  When  Mr.  Sydney  Bruce 
began  to  pay  Miss  Peyton  marked  attention,  it  was 
hinted  that  she  was  connected  with  the  Stuart  Pey- 
tons  of  Baltimore,  "  exclusive  old  Southern  family, 
you  know."  Presently  she  was  pointed  out  to 
strangers  as  the  beautiful  Miss  Peyton,  the  accom 
plished  Miss  Peyton,  who,  it  was  delicately  whis 
pered,  had  refused  young  Baron  von  Falkenstein. 
Yes,  all  the  thumbs  were  unanimously  up,  Mrs. 
Vivien's  highest  of  all. 

Frau  Rudolph  held  herself  aloof,  like  Olympian 
Jove  watching  the  petty  struggles  of  mankind.  But, 
quaffing  her  strong,  black  coffee,  she  soliloquized, 
shaking  her  sides  in  mighty  mirth,  — 

"  First  time  in  my  dear  life  I  see  nice,  old,  good, 
very  still,  little,  one  woman  fight  much  great  fools  ; 
and,  oh,  she  do  beat !  It  joys  me  that  she  do  beat." 

"  Things  amuse  me  so,"  Gertrude  said  one 
day.  "  I  am  the  Wonderland  Cat.  Soon  there  will 
be  nothing  left  of  me  but  my  grin."  Then  she 
added  more  gravely,  ' '  But  it  does  not  hurt  me  to 
accept  all  this  from  you,  aunt  Serena.  First  of 
all,  3Tou  trusted  me.  That  is  my  decoration  of  the 
legion  of  honor,  and  '  love  may  give  a  flower  or  a 
kingdom.' ' 

' '  You  have  only  that  intrepid  and  honest  little 
person,  'the  real  me,'  to  thank.  She  has  fairly 
gained  whatever  good  has  come  to  3rou." 

But  Gertrude  shook  her  thoughtful  head,  and 
without  extravagant  demonstration  worshipped  her 
rescuers. 


AUNT  SERENA.  241 

She  worked  as  diligently  as  before,  yet  without 
anxiety  as  to  her  future  course.  Nothing  definite 
had  been  decided :  aunt  Serena  had  merely  re 
marked  in  her  reliable  way,  "  We  will  find  some 
thing  suitable  for  you  and  little  Ruth.  Be  happy 
now,  my  child,  with  Rose  ;  "  and  Gertrude  at  once 
felt  safe  as  if  established  in  some  agreeable,  honor 
able,  and  lucrative  employment,  with  income  enough 
to  enable  her  to  make  a  snug  home  for  Ruthie,  and 
pay  the  doctor's  bills. 

Rosamond,  too,  was  busy.  She  had  a  sweet, 
light,  soprano  voice,  in  which  Gertrude  deigned  to 
take  interest.  "It  is  a  nice  little  parlor- voice," 
she  would  say  approvingly.  "If  you  work  well, 
you'll  be  surprised  to  find  how  it  will  grow  in  six 
mouths."  Rose  plunged  with  energy  into  vocal 
exercises  and  German,  to  which  she  devoted  her 
mornings.  There  were  still  many  golden  hours  left. 

One  jocund  day  followed  another.  Harold  Thorn 
ton's  arrival  towards  the  middle  of  November  in 
creased  their  pleasure,  although  he  himself  was  at 
times  singularly  depressed  and  constrained.  Aunt 
Serena  was  apt  to  ask  him,  with  considerable  solici 
tude,  if  he  were  sure  he  felt  well,  if  he  thought  Ger 
many  was  going  to  agree  with  him,  if  he  were  not 
homesick ;  when  he  would  rally,  and  with  forced 
gayety  interest  himself  in  plans  for  the  general 
good. 

It  seemed  to  her  scarcely  natural  for  a  gay  boy  to 
gain  his  point  against  all  reason,  come  off  to  Wyn- 
burg  with  flying  colors,  live  under  the  same  roof 


242  AUNT  SEEENA. 

with  the  girl  he  professed  to  fondly  love,  have  no 
heavier  care  than  to  see  that  every  day  of  the 
pleasant  fall-weather  was  utilized  to  the  utmost,  and 
still  to  appear  absent-minded,  odd,  and  moody.  She 
knew  that  he  had  received  no  new  rebuff  from  Rose  ; 
that  he  had,  indeed,  not  yet  molested  her  with  the 
faintest  suggestion  of  love-making  ;  and  no  one  was 
sufficiently  devoted  to  her  to  render  him  uneasy  or 
anxious.  Bruce  talked  as  much  or  more  with  Ger 
trude.  Von  Falkenstein,  too,  while  manifesting  no 
special  preference  for  either,  was  naturally  less  for 
mal  and  better  acquainted  with  Miss  Peyton.  He 
had  known  her  longer.  Then,  she  spoke  German ; 
and  his  English,  while  highly  attractive  and  original, 
was  not  yet  all  that  he  could  desire.  Aunt  Serena 
pondered  and  waited. 

Harold,  as  a  matter  of  course,  was  Rose's  cava 
lier.  There  was  a  widely  diffused  impression  in 
"Wynburg  that  they  were,  or  were  going  to  be,  en 
gaged  to  be  married.  He  was  her  cousin,  her  com 
panion,  and  familiar  friend.  He  had  hastened  over 
the  sea  because  he  could  not  bear  the  separation. 
There  could  be  no  reasonable  doubt.  Mrs.  Vivien 
seemed  to  know  more  on  this  subject  than  she  was 
prepared  to  particularize.  "I  do  so  admire  his 
youthful  ardor,"  she  would  often  say.  "  Then  it  is 
a  so  natural,  so  quite-to-be-expected  and  sure  a 
thing.  It  reminds  me  of  my  own  courtship,  which 
was  also  a  little  idyl.  Of  course,  being  in  the  house 
with  the  young  turtle-doves,  I  see  more  than  any 
one  else, — more  indeed  than  I  have  any  right  to 
divulge  —  at  present." 


A  UNT  SEEENA.  '  243 

Meanwhile  Rose  was  thankful  Harold  was  no 
longer  silly,  and  hoped  he  would  soon  tell  her,  in  his 
old,  frank  way,  what  was  preying  on  his  mind.  She 
was  happy  and  affectionate,  and  gave  him  every 
opportunity  to  confide  in  her.  Curiously  enough, 
Harold  was  never  so  ill  at  ease  as  when  tete-a-tete 
with  Rose.  He  would  subject  her  to  long,  inquiring 
looks,  then  turn  away  uneasily.  He  was  repeatedly 
on  the  point  of  making  some  revelation,  but  would 
pause  abruptly  in  utter  confusion. 

Ah,  who  may  account  for  the  waywardness  and 
inconsistency  of  youth !  Is  there  any  thing  in  life 
so  surprising,  unless  it  be  the  waywardness  and 
inconsistency  of  age?  And  why  did  Cupid  play 
such  a  trick  on  this  honest  lad?  Over  land  and  sea, 
through  mist  and  foam,  he  comes  hurrying  upon  the 
wings  of  the  wind  to  greet  the  lady  of  his  love.  He 
pictures  the  kind  welcome  that  awaits  him.  He  is 
confident  his  reward  is  not  far  off.  He  plans  a 
happy  surprise.  He  will  walk  unannounced  into 
their  little  German  home.  He  comes.  With  uncon 
trollable  ardor  he  flies  up  the  long  stairway.  He 
hears  the  sound  of  low  chords,  and  a  girl's  voice 
crooning  some  sweet  strain.  He  softly  knocks,  — 
opens  the  door,  —  enters.  A  figure  all  in  fleecy 
white  rises  from  behind  the  piano,  and  comes  towards 
him.  "  Who  is  this  angel?"  he  thinks.  There  is 
a  royy  glow  through  the  dimly  lighted  roori,  —  it  is 
owing  to  a  red-paper  lamp-shade ;  but  how  is  the 
poor  boy  to  know  that?  —  The  vision  stands  before 
him.  It  has  fair  hah-.  It  looks  etherial  yet  radiant. 


244  AUNT  SERENA. 

It  smiles  gently  at  him.  It  opens  its  mouth  and 
says  in  a  cordial,  human  voice,  — 

"  Oh,  you  must  be  Mr.  Thornton!  I  will  cau 
them." 

Alas  for  Harold's  fine  writing !  Alas  for  his  vows 
of  fealty !  Aunt  Serena  and  Rose  gave  him  the 
kindest  of  welcomes,  but  the  meeting  was  not  what 
his  fond  fancy  had  painted  it.  Something  was 
wanting.  Worst  of  all,  the  deficiency  was,  as  he 
abjectly  told  himself,  in  his  own  black  and  perjured 
heart. 

Why  were  not  aunt  Serena  and  Rose  there  to 
meet  him?  Why  were  they  in  their  own  rooms 
dressing  to  go  to  the  theatre?  Why  was  Gertrude 
ready  first,  sitting  there  singing  low  to  herself  with 
that  bewitching,  white,  woolly  thing  thrown  over 
her  shoulders?  He  hung  his  head  in  shame,  and 
bewailed  his  faithlessness.  Rose  was  a  dear ;  but 
this  white,  still  maiden,  they  called  Gertrude,  was 
something  quite  different.  Silent,  self-contained, 
with  a  fleeting  sad  look  in  her  dark  blue  eyes  that 
made  him  sorry,  with  piquant  sarcastic  curves  in 
the  corners  of  her  mouth  that  allured  him.  He  was 
shy  with  them  all  that  first  evening.  No,  he  had 
never  seen  any  one  like  this  Gertrude.  But  who 
would  believe  him,  if  he  should  say  so?  He  could 
not  indeed  believe  himself,  he  admitted  in  angry 
self-contempt. 

When  alone,  he  sulked  persistently ;  but  this  did 
not  prevent  him  from  availing  himself  largely  of  the 
emoluments  of  his  position  as  escort  of  two  charm- 


AUNT  SEEENA.  245 

ing  girls.  In  spite  of  his  temporary  disgust  with 
the  world,  his  unascetic  spirit  could  not  resist  the 
temptations  of  a  good  horse,  mirth  and  beauty,  rool, 
crisp  air,  and  excellent  roads.  They  galloped  by 
vineyard  and  orchard  and  grove,  up  the  pleasant 
winding  ascent  which  led  from  Wynburg  to  the  airy 
heights  surrounding  it.  They  trotted  through  the 
stately  park,  whose  noble  vistas  were  now  tinged 
with  golden  light  where  the  sun  shone  on  innumera 
ble  fallen  russet  leaves. 

The  park  was  a  calm,  peaceful  spot.  No  faun  or 
satyr,  or  any  riotous  sylvan  shape,  could  ever  have 
frequented  its  still  glades.  Only  some  imprisoned 
nymph  might  here,  from  the  heart  of  a  slender  birch, 
softly  lament  her  fate  ;  and  uneasy  murmurs  among 
the  branches  would  respond,  and  a  sighing  in  the 
reeds  by  a  little,  lonely  pool ;  then  silence  every 
where,  except  for  the  plashing  of  many  fountains. 
Even  in  spring,  when  the  luxuriant  foliage  was  pul 
sating  with  fresh  life,  the  park  was  not  without  that 
gentle  melancholy,  apt  to  haunt  low,  level  land, 
TV  here  there  are  broad,  still  spaces  between  great 
trees  with  heavy,  drooping  branches.  The  gay 
world  on  its  race  for  wealth  and  power  might  course 
through  it  with  its  fashion  and  pleasures  and  pomps. 
The  trees  kept  their  secrets,  and  held  themselves 
aloof.  The  place  retained  its  own  chai'acteristics, 
and  would,  though  trumpets  should  break  its  pro 
found  stillness,  though  laughing  children  should 
sport  around  its  solemn  trees,  and  wreathe  their 
trunks  with  flowers. 


246  AUNT  SERENA. 

Rose  and  Gertrude  loved  the  breezy  hills,  but  to 
aunt  Serena  the  park  was  one  of  Wynburg's  chief 
attractions.  She  walked  there  until  the  wind  grew 
bleak  in  its  winding  waj-s,  and  the  black  trunks 
loomed  up  against  new-fallen  snow ;  but  this  was 
not  until  Christmas  tidings  were  already  in  the  air. 

Sydney  Bruce  was  often  her  companion.  They 
had  long,  congenial  talks  together.  The  civil  gar 
deners  would  stop  raking  up  little  piles  of  yellow 
leaves  to  touch  their  caps  to  the  prett}7,  white-haired 
old  lady  on  the  arm  of  the  grave  and  handsome 
young  man.  "  She  is  a  Russian,"  they  said,  which 
was  merely  because  she  was  so  well  wrapped  in  fur. 
But  the  Russians  were  one '  of  the  few  nations  that 
had  not  as  yet  claimed  her.  Bruce  never  lost  an 
opportunity  to  prove  his  devotion  to  his  lovely  lady 
of  the  market-place.  Flowers  for  Miss  Lennox, 
books  for  Miss  Lennox,  were  continually  arriving ; 
and  he  himself  was  a  frequent  visitor  in  the  cosey, 
too-many  windowed  room  where  Harold  puzzled  over 
the  problem  of  how  soon  he  could,  with  any  sem 
blance  of  dignity,  acknowledge  himself  off  with  the 
old  love,  in  order  to  be  as  speedily  as  possible  on 
with  the  new ;  and  blithe  von  Falkenstein  improved 
his  English  accent,  and,  what  Miss  Lennox  con 
sidered  of  more  importance,  his  knowledge  of  the 
much  misunderstood  American  "  system." 

Bruce  was  on  excellent  terms  with  them  all,  except 
Harold,  who  treated  him  with  civil,  but  perceptible, 
reserve,  regarding  him,  if  the  truth  were  known,  as 
his  evil  genius.  "He  interfered  before.  He  will 


AUNT  SERENA.  247 

interfere  now,"  thought  the  boy.  "Why  is  he 
always  in  my  way  with  his  confounded  handsome 
head  ?  Is  he  insatiable  ? ' '  Then  he  would  blush  to 
remember  that  he  himself  could  not  boast  of  that 
single-minded  devotion  to  one  object  which  would 
permit  him  to  assume  a  lofty  moral  tone  towards 
inconstancy.  Harold  entertained  the  widely  diffused 
but  erroneous  impression  that  ' '  girls  tell  each  other 
every  thing ;  "  and  if  Gertrude  knew  all,  what  re 
spect  could  she  have  for  his  easily  transferable  affec 
tions  ?  His  natural  instinct  was  to  confide  in  Rose 
as  his  trusty  stanch  comrade,  but  he  could  not  suf 
ficiently  humble  himself.  We  all  at  times  contradict 
our  ruling  spirit.  In  his  embarrassment,  he  turned 
even  from  Rose. 

The  little  party  at  Frau  Rudolph's  was  accustomed 
to  see  Mr.  Bruce  at  any  hour  with  a  message  from 
Mrs.  Raymond.  So  willing  a  messenger  was  rarely 
found.  They  planned  excursions  with  the  Ray 
monds  in  every  direction,  and  scoured  the  environs 
of  Wynburg,  which  were  rich  in  historical  and  ro 
mantic  incident  and  natural  beauty.  Through  the 
queer  little  irregular  villages,  perched  on  the  hills 
and  nestled  in  the  dales  of  that  pleasant  land,  re- 
sounded  the  gay  clatter  of  their  horses'  hoofs  ;  and 
every  ruined  castle  and  abbey  for  leagues  around 
was  seized  and  occupied  by  these  happy  marauders. 
Frequently  the  procession  was  not  insignificant  in 
numbers.  The  four  young  people  on  horseback ; 
the  Raymonds  and  Miss  Lennox  driving  behind  ; 
Edith  and  Marjorie,  with  Elise  and  the  hampers, 


248  AUNT  SERENA. 

bringing  up  in  the  rear  in  a  second  carriage,  in 
which  might  also  be  occasionally  seen  Molly's  and 
Daisy's  round,  pleased  eyes  and  flaxen  braids. 
These  over-much-mothered  lassies  were  discovered 
to  be  good  children,  without  —  or  in  spite  of — the 
constant  companionship  of  their  own  mamma. 

The  telling  of  poetical  old  stories,  the  family  at 
mosphere  of  the  party,  the  bright,  presence  of  the 
little  people  whose  informal  treatment  seemed  to 
draw  them  all  nearer  together,  favored  Bruce's 
smooth  and  uneventful  progress  towards  his  ami. 
He  was  consumed  with  impatience,  yet  felt  it  was 
wise  to  wait.  A  man  who  is  in  a  state  of  mind 
which  induces  him  to  say  to  himself,  "  It  is  a  privi 
lege  to  see  her  merely  get  up  and  sit  down  again, 
it  is  a  joy  to  see  her  turn  her  lovely  head  on  her 
gracious  shoulders,"  was  naturally  not  averse  to 
watching  Rose  by  the  hour  in  the  free  and  constant 
intercourse  existing  between  the  families. 

He  had  had  his  share  of  experience  with  women  ; 
but  he  felt  strangely  insecure  of  his  ground  with  this 
sweet,  unconscious  child.  He  studied  her  in  every 
mood.  He  knew  her  as  no  one  did,  except  aunt 
Serena.  He  loved  her  more  tenderly  every  day  ;  but 
he  dared  not  force  circumstances,  for  fear  of  utter 
failure  if  he  risked  too  much.  He  had  a  dread  of 
startling  her,  of  rendering  her  less  childlike  and 
frank  with  him.  Her  way  of  coming  freely  to  him 
with  any  trifling  wish  or  need  filled  him  with  delight ; 
but  when  he  noticed  her  manner  to  Raymond  was 
equally  simple  and  kind,  his  spirits  sank. 


AUNT  SEEENA.  249 

Evenings  in  Miss  Lennox's  salon  he  observed  von 
Falkenstein  with  a  degree  of  irritation  he  was  forced 
to  admit  was  incipient  jealousy,  until  at  length  con 
vinced  of  the  young  man's  harmless  good-natuie, 
and  absence  of  any  intentions  whatever  as  regarded 
Miss  Wellesley,  except  to  enjoy  the  passing  moment, 
perfect  his  somewhat  defective  tli,  and  form  new 
theories  of  that  vast,  delightful,  and  puzzling  sub 
ject,  —  American  girls. 

Harold's  advent  did  not  occasion  him  much  alarm. 
The  fact  that  it  was  Mrs.  Vivien  who  had  declared 
this  fair  stripling  to  be  his  cousin's  accepted  lover, 
seemed  to  Bruce  reasonable  ground  for  doubting  the 
truth  of  the  statement.  Then,  there  was  nothing 
whatever  in  Miss  Lennox's  or  Rosamond's  treatment 
of  Thornton  to  verify  the  rumor.  Bruce  was  sure 
that  those  eyes  had  never  looked  love  into  any 
man's. 

This  joyful  conviction  did  not  prevent  him,  how 
ever,  from  subjecting  Harold,  as  well  as  all  strange 
young  men  who  presented  their  respectful  homage 
to  Miss  Welleslcy,  to  an  inquisitorial  scrutiny,  of 
which  they  were  happily  unconscious.  His  well- 
established  position  as  family  friend  and  aunt 
Serena's  sworn  knight,  gave  him  every  opportunity 
to  know  whom  Rose  met  and  what  influenced  her. 
Provided  he  had  no  cause  to  fear  a  rival,  he  felt  that 
he  could  bear  to  wait  a  ver}r  little  longer ;  yet  he 
anxiously  scanned  the  Wynburg  horizon  every  day. 

He  saw  that  she  heartily  liked  the  bright  glimpses 
of  society  now  and  then  permitted  her,  that  she 


250  AUNT  SERENA. 

enjoyed  speaking  her  broken  German  to  a  little 
circle  of  officers,  —  always  most  indulgent  and  en 
couraging  critics  of  the  lingual  efforts  of  a  pretty 
girl,  —  that  she  liked  to  dance  with  them  and  jest 
with  them,  that  she  was  pleased  to  meet  people  of 
different  nations,  and  altogether  amused  at  the 
novelty  of  her  surroundings.  But,  with  exultation, 
lie  saw  that  beneath  her  girlish  dignity  was  the 
careless  ga}-ety  of  a  child.  "  She  is  always  Rose, 
—  my  wild-rose,  —  my  heath-rose,  —  stainless  au'l 
fresh,  with  the  dews  of  the  morning  still  clinging 
to  her,  with  the  woodland  grace  and  the  cool  fra 
grance  that  make  her  a  thing  apart  amid  the  forced 
growths  of  this  stiff  world-garden." 

And  Rose  was  growing  used  to  Mr.  Bruce.  He 
seemed  to  be  the  best  and  wisest  interpreter  of  her 
new  life. 

Across  a  room,  whatever  she  might  be  doing,  she 
would  meet  the  smile  in  his  eyes,  which  seemed  to 
flash  its  way  to  her  over  the  heads  of  the  people. 
There  was  an  indulgence  and  approval  in  it  which 
made  her  feel  very  happy.  She  asked  Gertrude  if 
she  had  ever  noticed  how  kindly  Mr.  Bruce 's  eyea 
could  smile  out  of  his  grave,  calm  face,  and  if  she 
thought  people's  eyes  usually  smiled  when  the  face 
seemed  to  be  in  perfect  repose.  Gertrude  soberly 
discussed  with  her  this  interesting  facial  phenome 
non.  Rose  was  also  profoundly  grateful  to  Mr. 
Bruce.  He  was  most  charming  in  his  devotion  to 
her  aunt.  He  had  stood  shoulder  to  shoulder  with 
them  in  the  quiet  victorious  advance  of  Gertrude's 


AUNT  SERENA.  251 

self-constituted  guard  of  bouor.  Indeed,  having 
noticed  that  any  conspicuous  attention  to  Miss  Pey 
ton  would  have  the  sure  and  delicious  effect  of 
sending  Rose  to  him  with  a  glow  of  gratitude  in 
her  face,  — so  nearly  resembling  tenderness  that  he 
could  with  difficult}^  maintain  the  reserve  of  bearing 
which  he  deemed  temporarily  expedient, — he  be 
came  even  more  attentive  to  Gertrude  than  his 
benevolent  desire  to  be  of  service  to  that  charming 
young  girl  could  justify.  To  whom,  indeed,  would 
he  not  have  devoted  himself,  if  rewarded  by  the 
mute,  sweet  gesture  of  Rosamond's  clasped  hands, 
the  glad  thankfulness  of  her  beautiful  eyes?  He 
would  have  faced  Medusa.  But  Gertrude  belonged 
to  no  Gorgon  sisterhood. 

Four  pairs  of  friendly  eyes  were  following  his 
movements  with  extreme  interest.  Of  these,  hers 
saw  clearest ;  and  she  quietly  awaited  the  sure  and 
happy  result.  It  seemed  to  Gertrude  she  could  best 
serve  Rosamond's  interests  by  allowing  herself  to  be 
used  as  a  puppet.  To  Gertrude,  also,  her  friend's 
unconsciousness  was  something  sacred  ;  and  not  one 
jesting  allusion  in  regard  to  Mr.  Bruce  did  she  ever, 
after  the  manner  of  girls,  make  to  Rose.  She  saw, 
with  much  amusement,  that  being  with  her  gave  Mr. 
Bruce  the  most  admirable  opportunity  to  look  at 
Rosamond,  and  that  he  made  the  most  of  it. 

One  evening,  at  the  house  of  a  German  friend, 
Bruce  stood  talking  with  Miss  Peyton.  At  a  little 
distance  Rose  was  receiving  very  paternal  atten 
tions  from  her  host,  whose  little  pleasantries,  she, 


252  AUNT  SEEENA. 

with  her  charming  play  of  feature,  was  trying  to 
interpret  to  Harold. 

"Miss  Wellesley  looks  very  beautiful  to-night," 
Bruce  remarked  carelessly. 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Peyton  said.  "  She  is  the  most 
beautiful  girl  I  ever  saw,  and  the  kindest,"  she 
added. 

Bruce  continued  to  look  steadily  at  the  group  m 
the  centre  of  the  room.  His  cool  glance  was  pleas 
antly  critical,  as  if  he  were  studying  an  excellent 
picture.  After  a  slight  pause  he  remarked  deliber 
ately,  "  One  would  not  infer  from  Miss  AVellesley's 
manner  to  Mr.  Thornton  that  she  is  his  fiancee." 

"  What  manner  do  girls  have  when  they  are 
fiancees?  "  asked  Gertrude,  smiling. 
,  "  Not  that.  At  least,  I  imagine  she  would  not," 
he  replied  gravely.  He  was  as  self-contained  as 
ever,  but  she  knew  a  word  might  help  him.  Ger 
trude  looked  at  him.  She  liked  and  admired  him. 
She  remembered  the  fable  of  the  lion  and  the  mouse. 
"  I  wonder  if  I  dare,"  she  thought,  opening  a  pho 
tograph-album,  and  examining  assiduously  a  moon 
light  view  of  the  Grand  Canal  at  Venice. 

"  She  treats  him  as  if  he  were  a  girl,"  she  said 
softly,  and  with  a  little  embarrassment.  It  seemed 
presumptuous  in  her  to  understand  Mr.  Bruce  as 
well  as  she  did.  It  was  like  instructing  the  Delphic 
oracla.  "  They  are  not  engaged.  They  never  will 
be,  I  think.  It  seems  to  me  neither  of  them  wish 
it.  The}r  are  only  like  brother  and  sistor,"  and 
then  she  stopped,  appalled  at  her  temerity. 


AUNT  SERENA.  253 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Peyton,"  Bruce  said  kindly. 
"  You  are  very  good  to  say  that  to  me."  Sho 
glanced  up  timidly.  They  exchanged  a  long  look 
of  good  understanding.  He  was  smiling  at  her 
frankly.  "  How  shamelessly  she  flirts,"  commente.l 
Mrs.  Vivien  to  a  French  gentleman.  "  Really,  I 
blush  sometimes  for  my  country!"  —  "You  have 
no  occasion,  madame,"  he  responded  with  courteous 
irony,  inspecting  Gertrude  through  his  single  glass 
"  The  young  girl  is  charming." 

Aunt  Serena  was  inclined  to  believe  that  Mr. 
Bruce  loved  her  niece.  She  had  seen  much  that 
would  seem  to  be  indubitable  proof  of  it.  Yet  at 
tunes  she  wavered.  And  if  it  were  Gertrude, 
what  then  ?  she  asked  herself.  ' '  The  weary  dove 
would  at  last  find  rest.  I  will  not  be  selfish ;  and 
yet  I  could  gladly  trust  my  Rose  to  those  kind, 
strong  arms." 

Mr.  Raymond  thought  that  Bruce  no  doubt  knew 
what  he  was  about,  and  at  all  events  was  enjoying 
himself  uncommonly  well. 

Mrs.  Raymond  was  disappointed.  She  reluc 
tantly  admitted  to  her  husband  that  it  was,  after  all, 
Gertrude.  She  liked  her.  She  thought  her  pretty 
and  attractive,  but  she  immeasurably  preferred 
Rose.  She  had  hoped  it  would  be  Rose.  She  had 
been  sure  it  must  be  Rose.  But  wh}*  should  Syd- 
ncj ,  with  the  choice  free  before  him,  deliberately 
distinguish  Gertrude  b}^  his  attentions?  "Why 
should  he  talk  more  with  her,  walk  more  with  her, 
if  he  did  not  prefer  her  ? 


254  AUNT  SERENA. 

That  a  man  like  her  brother,  with  no  reasonable 
obstacle  in  his  path,  should  have  sentimental  scru 
ples  on  account  of  a  girl's  jouth,  and  a  tender, 
protecting  care  of  her  happy  freedom,  did  not  enter 
her  calculations. 

"  Sydney,"  said  she  one  morning  as  he  was  about 
to  take  a  new  novel  over  to  Miss  Lennox,  "  does  it 
seem  to  you  that  Miss  Peyton  is  cleverer  than  Miss 
Wellesley?" 

He  apparently  was  occupied  in  weighing  their 
intellects,  for  he  did  not  immediately  answer 

"  I  think  not,"  he  finally  said. 

"  And  do  you  find  Miss  Peyton  prettier?  " 

Again  Bruce  considered  the  matter. 

"  No,"  he  said.     "  Upon  the  whole,  I  do  not." 

' '  And  have  you  any  reason  to  believe  that  Miss 
Peyton  has  a  sweeter  disposition?"  she  went  on, 
elated  with  her  success. 

"They  are  both  charming  girls,  Folly.  Why 
do  you  catechise  me  ? ' ' 

"Because,  Sydney,  I  simply  must.  Have  I 
once,  in  all  these  years,  though  my  hair  has  almost 
turned  gray  with  fright  time  and  time  again,  ventured 
to  warn  you  against  a  girl,  to  suggest  another,  to 
direct  you  in  any  way  in  the  matrimonial  labyrinth  ? 
Have  I  not  abstained  with  heroic  self-command 
from  my  natural  role  of  match-making  sister  ?  And 
when  I  have  seen  you  mooning  about  as  }*ou 
did, — yes,  Sydney,  I  will  speak  now!  —  splendid 
as  you  are,  you  were  mooning  at  that  time, — did 
I  lift  my  finger  in  the  matter?  Did  I  tell  what  I 


AUNT  SERENA.  255 

knew?    Did  I  interfere?    Did  I  do  any  thing  but 
await  in   agony  the    result,  which,   no   thanks  to 
you,  my  dear,  was  better  than  any  one  couli  have 
expected  ? ' ' 
Bruce  laughed. 

"  Don't  laugh,  Sydney.  Answer  me." 
"  What  you  say  is  all  quite  true,  but "  — 
"  Then,  listen  to  me  now.  Marry  Rosamond 
Wellesley.  I  am  not  prejudiced  against  Miss  Pey 
ton.  I  like  her.  I  am  her  friend.  But  why  take 
the  second  best  instead  of  the  best?  And  Rose 
suits  you  better,  Sydney.  Any  rational  person 
would  tell  you  so.  What  do  yon  want  of  a  girl  with 
a  past?  After  the  honeymoon  you  would  both  sit 
and  mope.  I  can  see  it  perfectly.  Gertrude  is  a 
beautiful,  dignified  girl ;  but  what  charm  can  she 
have  for  you  compared  with  Rosamond?  Let  her 
have  Harold  Thornton.  He's  an  excellent  young 
man.  Oh,  every  thing  is  going  wrong,  and  all  for 
the  want  of  a  little  common  sense  !  " 
"But"  — 

"No:  you  must  hear  me  this  time.  You  are 
going  to  tell  me  you  do  not  love  Rosamond,  and  that 
you  do  love  Gertrude ;  to  which  I  say,  nonsense. 
How  many  fancies  have  you  had  before  in  your  life, 
if  the  truth  were  known  ?  How  many  fancies  does 
every  man  have  ?  O  Sydney,  don't  laugh !  it  is 
aot  like  you  to  laugh  so  heartily  when  I  feel  this  so 
much.  If  you  would  only  trust  me  this  once.  You 
have  a  passing  fancy  for  Gertrude,  but  Rosamond 
is  the  one  whose  sunny  nature  would  make  you 


256  AUNT  SERENA. 

truly  happy.  Why  need  you  be  so  blind?  Why 
do  you  not  perceive  that  the  girl  is  the  most  ex 
quisite  being  that  you  or  I  or  anybody  has  ever 
seen  ?  Have  you  no  eyes  for  her  beauty  ?  for  her 
wonderful,  rich  coloring?  Why,  Titian  would  have 
gone  mad  over  her  !  Is  it  possible  that  you  do  not 
know  she  has  great,  deep,  clear  eyes,  whose  exact 
color  I  defy  any  one  to  find  out,  that  look  up  at 
one  as  innocently  as  my  Marjorie's?  Has  that  no 
charm  for  a  man  like  you  ?  And  in  what  does  she 
fail,  I  should  like  to  inquire.  Do  you  not  find  her 
sympathetic?  Does  she  not  care  for  books  and 
pictures?  Has  she  not  tact  and  wit  and  grace  and 
quick  appreciation?  " 

In  vain  Sydne}'  interposed  his  "But  Florence  "  — 
"And  she  is  good.  How  loving  and  good  that 
dear  girl  is,  I  suppose  no  man  can  quite  understand. 
And  how  gentle  with  all  her  spirit !  Sydney,  if  I 
could  influence  you  only  this  once !  I  tell  you 
plainly,  that,  beside  Henry  and  the  children  and 
yourself,  there  is  no  one  in  the  world  for  whom  I 
have  so  much  affection  as  for  this  child.  Not  even 
for  lovely  old  Miss  Lennox.  I  will  not  be  unkind 
if  it  must  be  Gertrude ;  but  if  it  might  be  Rosa 
mond,  I  should  feel  blessed.  I  have  set  my  heart 
on  this.  Have  I  not  been  a  good  sister?  Must 
you  disappoint  me  in  this,  dearest  Sydney?  " 

In  his  life  Bruce  had  never  known  his  sister  to 
evince  so  much  feeling.  There  were  actually  tears 
in  her  eyes.  He  was  singular!}"  touched.  At  finst 
the  humorous  side  of  the  situation  had  struck  him 


AUNT  SERENA.  257 

forcibly ;   but  now  he  said  gently,  his   own  voice 
somewhat  unsteady,  — 

"If  it  is  not  Rosamond,  it  will  be  no  one  ;  and, 
Florence,  I  will  not  deceive  you.  Your  pleading^ 
though  I  thank  you  for  it,  was  not  needed.  It  has 
always  been  Rosamond." 


258  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  XVH. 

"  Here,  by  God's  rood,  is  the  one  maid  for  me." 

"  She  lifted  up  her  eyea 

And  loved  him 

And  all  night  long  his  face  before  her  lived, 


Dark-splendid,  speaking  in  the  silence,  full 
Of  noble  things,  and  held  her  from  her  sleep." 

TENNYSON. 

~|  TP  on  the  beautiful  wooded  hills  around  "Wyn- 
*— '  burg  raged  the  wintry  wind,  chilling  the 
patient  peasant  as  he  trudged  from  his  distant 
hamlet  down  through  the  light  snow  to  the  Christ 
mas  market.  Below,  in  the  valley,  nestled  the 
sheltered,  smiling  city.  From  its  very  heart  rose 
the  gray  church-tower.  No  slender,  airy  spire  was 
this,  drawing  the  soul  upward  to  spiritual  contem 
plation  ;  but  sturdy,  bold,  and  blunt,  its  broad 
summit  seemed  a  fitting  place  for  the  musicians 
to  climb  in  the  early  morning,  at  busy  noonday, 
again  towards  quiet  eventide,  and,  according  to 
the  primitive  custom,  trumpet  forth  Em  fester 
Burg,  or  some  other  strong  old  choral  of  Martin 
Luther  and  his  stalwart  followers. 

As  the  passing  glance  of  a  keen-eyed  stranger 
may  detect,  in  a  human  face,  subtle  lines  unob 
served  by  those  who  see  it  of tenest  and  love  it  best ; 


AUNT  SERENA.  259 

so  the  tower,  am:  its  valiant  neighbor  over  the  way, 
the  massive  old  castle,  spoke  to  aunt  Serena  and' 
Rose  with  a  rough  eloquence,  unheard  perhaps  by 
the  careless  crowd.  Mediaeval  memories  contrasted, 
yet  mingled  pleasantly,  with  the  life  of  the  eager 
multitude  preparing  their  homes  for  the  most  wel 
come  guest  of  the  year.  The  tower  and  the  castle 
seemed  to  put  their  hoary  heads  together,  remember 
ing  brave  Christmases  that  were  ;  and  the  very  old 
est  of  the  queer  old  houses  near  by  reached  up  with 
their  peaked  gables,  and  leaned  over  to  listen,  know 
ing  that  the  tales  these  grim  heroes  told  were  bolder 
and  stronger  than  the  tales  of  to-day. 

The  German  Christmas  had  for  our  friends  a  rich 
and  novel  charm.  There  were  resemblances  to  their 
home  festivities,  yet,  also,  many  points  of  dissimi 
larity.  Christmas  at  the  Nest  meant  heavy  snow 
drifts  round  the  cottage,  huge  open  fires  within, 
turkeys  to  all  aunt  Serena's  old  women,  trimming 
the  church  with  evergreen  and  flowers,  glad,  full 
services,  and  children's  carols,  a  family  dinner,  — 
they  with  the  Thorntons,  or  the  Thorntons  with 
them,  —  one  or  two  familiar  friends,  and  choice 
spirits  beside,  the  tree  in  the  evening,  —  and  in 
the  exchange  of  gifts  the  merry  revelation  of  long 
cherished  secrets,  —  mirth  and  feasting,  peace  and 
good-will,  and  good  cheer.  It  was  a  dear  and 
happy  time. 

But  Christmas  at  Wynburg,  while  not  dearer  and 
sweeter,  was  more  marvellous  and  fanciful.  All  the 
kobolds  and  mischievous  sprites  of  German  legen- 


260  AUNT  SERENA. 

dary  lore  seemed  to  be  let  loose,  working  their 
merry  will.  The  frugal,  careful  German  would  for 
get  his  habitual  economy,  toss  prudence  to  the 
winds,  buy  lavishly,  give  recklessly,  —  not  only  to 
his  own,  but  to  his  friends  and  their  own,  to  his 
friend's  friends  and  their  own,  to  his  man-servant, 
his  maid-servant,  and  to  the  stranger  within  his 


Frau  Rudolph  brewed  and  baked,  and  filled  her 
larder  with  cheerful  punches  and  delectable  sweet 
meats.  Milk  and  honey  flowed  all  day  long,  and  all 
day  long  a  vigorous  pounding  and  beating  and  stir 
ring  went  on  in  the  kitchen.  Savory  odors  pervaded 
the  corridors  ;  and  she,  rosier  and  comelier  than  ever, 
was  like  a  huge  bubble  of  delight,  so  vast  was  her 
glee  in  the  mysteries  of  her  Christmas  hospitality. 

On  the  .great  joy-wave  floated  Rosamond  and 
Gertrude,  smiling  at  life.  Everybody  seemed 
happy  and  harmless.  Mrs.  Vivien  became  inad 
vertently  sincere.  Mrs.  Lancaster  forgot  to  bridle, 
and  to  censure  less  enlightened  mammas.  Mrs. 
Van  Rensalaer  was  seen  to  smile.  Through  the 
gay,  jostling  crowd  the  young  girls  and  aunt  Serena 
were  hurried  along.  The  noisy  Christmas  m:rket 
filled  the  streets  with  its  booths  and  tables.  Its 
common  furniture,  wheel-barrows,  hobby-horses, 
and  baby-carriages  threatened  to  blockade  the 
pavements.  By  chattering  peasant  crones,  and 
wrinkled  old  men  in  red  waistcoats  and  short 
breeches,  stood  elegant  women,  and  stately  officers 
in  brilliant  uniform.  The  shop-windows  were  full 


AUNT  SEEENA.  261 

of  beautiful,  dazzling   things.     Long   rows   of   fir- 
trees  lined  the  streets. 

The  children  had  entered  upon  their  kingdom, 
and  every  one  became  as  much  of  a  child  as  possi 
ble  in  order  to  obtain  entrance  into  that  happy 
realm.  Marjorie  Raymond  wore  an  air  of  deep 
and  quiet  bliss.  Why  should  she  be  excited  that 
all  her  dear  people  had  come  to  town  ?  Did  she  not 
understand  them?  Did  they  not  understand  her? 
They  were  a  motlej'  throng  from  many  lands  and 
nations ;  but  this  did  not  ruffle  Marjorie's  calm 
spirit :  and,  it  must  be  confessed,  great  unanimity 
of  sentiment  and  sympathy  prevailed  among  them. 
She  had  no  narrow  prejudices.  She  was  cosmo 
politan,  at  home  in  all  wonderlands  where  a  fairy 
or  a  gnome  would  welcome  her  ;  and  she  knew  how 
to  reconcile  discrepancies  which  would  have  con 
fused  a  smaller  mind.  Now  she  welcomed  them  all 
to  Wynburg.  lu  her  goodly  company  were  only 
well-bred  guests.  There  was  no  vaunting  of  na 
tional  peculiarities.  Santa  Claus  did  not  clash  with 
Knecht  Rupreclit,  but  courteously  placed  his  swiftly 
flying  reindeer  at  the  other's  disposal ;  and  away 
they  sprang  over  the  astonished  German  roofs. 
Frau  Hotte,  that  wise  arbiter,  with  her  bundle  of 
rods  for  naughty  children,  her  untold  sweets  for 
good  ones,  far  from  frowning  upon  the  open  ex 
pectant  mouths  of  little  American  hung-up  stock 
ings,  and  declaring  them  a  modern  innovation, 
accepted  gallant  old  St.  Nicholas's  proffered  arm, 
and  made  his  rounds  with  him  at  midnight,  lighten- 


262  AUNT  SERENA. 

ing  his  labor  by  her  amiable  converse,  and  even 
helping  fill  the  stockings  with  her  own  deft  hands. 

The  universality  of  Marjoric's  genius  permitted 
Hans  Andersen's  tin  soldiers  to  act  as  body-guard 
for  the  awakened  Dornroschen  and  the  happy  prince 
on  their  wedding-tour ;  while  the  Ugly  Duckling 
swam  about  with  the  Water  Babies ;  and  Blue 
Beard,  little  Red  Riding  Hood,  Alice  and  the  White 
Queen,  Gulliver,  and  a  few  Liliputians  were  hos 
pitably  entertained  at  Aladdin's  wonderful  palace. 
They  were  all  there.  When,  indeed,  do  they  sally 
forth  in  such  numbers  as  at  the  summons  of  Christ 
mas  bells  ? 

Bruce  did  not  laugh  at  the  little  girl's  fancies, 
and  she  could  always  talk  freely  with  him.  He 
even  understood  how  the  three  kings  of  the  Orient, 
who,  in  gold-paper  crowns  and  shabby  white  rai 
ment,  stole  shyly  about  from  house  to  house  in  the 
twilight,  singing  their  feeble  little  song,  and  gladly 
gaining  a  few  pennies,  joined  her  other  majestic  folk 
in  their  triumphant  procession ;  though  she  knew 
that  Caspar  was  the  baker's  Hans,  Melchior  ran  on 
errands,  and  that  Balthazar  bore  upon  his  counte 
nance  indisputable  signs  of  his  profession  of  chim 
ney-sweep. 

Nor  was  uncle  Cid  shocked  when  he  found  that 
over  her  world  hovered  the  fair  Christ  Child,  bless 
ing  and  loving  all  children. 

Several  days  before  Christmas,  Edith  and  Mar- 
jorie  had  begged  their  uncle  to  help  them  select  a 
present  for  mamma.  It  was  an  important  moment 


AUNT  SERENA.  263 

when  the  three  sallied  forth  towards  evening,  each 
little  girl  with  the  savings  of  months  in  her  purse. 
In  the  large,  crowded,  brilliant  shop  they  met  Ger 
trude  and  Rosamond,  whom  the  children  at  once 
urgently  solicited  to  aid  in  the  weighty  decision. 

Edith  knew  how  much  she  had  to  spend,  and 
priced  small  and  useful  objects  with  a  savoir  faire 
which  amused  the  spectators.  Marjorie,  unmoved 
by  the  crowd  and  the  glitter,  stood  with  her  hand  in 
Rosamond's,  turning  her  slow,  calm  gaze  about. 

Edith,  with  praiseworthy  despatch,  bought  a  pen- 
rest  for  papa,  a  postage-stamp  box  for  mamma,  and 
had  some  pennies  left.  Her  purchases  were  both 
pretty  and  practical.  If  there  were  time,  she  pro 
posed  having  a  monogram  cut  on  the  box. 

Marjorie  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  pretty  enough  for  mamma 
here." 

Edith  expostulated,  but  uncle  Cid  asked,  — 

"  Shall  we  go  somewhere  else,  Marjorie?  " 

When  suddenly  the  child's  eyes  began  to  dilate. 
"I  would  like  that  swan!"  she  exclaimed.  In 
the  centre  of  the  window,  among  fanciful  gas-jets 
and  glittering  glass  and  attractive  objects  of  every 
description,  was  a  large  and  finely-cut  ivory  swan. 
Exquisite  white  water-lilies  rested  on  gently  undu 
lating  ivory  waves,  and  the  stately  bird's  plumage 
was  delicate  and  feathery  as  if  nature  had  carved 
it.  It  had  been  placed  there  more  as  an  ornament 
or  advertisement  of  fine  work  in  ivory  than  with  any 
expectation  of  selling  it,  and  was  a  gift  fit  for  a 
princess. 


264  AUNT  SERENA. 

The  saleswoman  looked  incredulous.  The  young 
girls  were  rather  at  a  loss  to  know  what  to  advise 
in  this  unexpected  dilemma,  especially  as  Marjorie 
did  not  take  her  eyes  off  the  swan.  Edith  had 
assumed  a  magisterial  manner,  and  was  abou:  to 
enlighten  the  poor  little  girl ;  when  Bruce  hushed 
her,  and  said,  with  an  indulgent  smile,  — 

"Why  do  you  want  the  swan,  Marjorie?  " 

"  It  is  tall  and  beautiful,  like  my  pretty  mamma," 
the  child  replied  without  hesitation.  "  It  saved  Brii- 
derchen  uncl  Schivesterchen.  Oberon  has  one. 
Mamma  will  look  at  it,  and  think  of  lovely  Oberon. 
Then,  there  is  that  sad  fairy  prince,  —  but  I  do  not 
know  him,"  —  she  said  doubtfully,  —  "who  looks 
like  you,  uncle  Cid.  —  he  has  one." 

Bruce  smiled  still  more  indulgently.  "  She  means 
Lohengrin,"  said  Gertrude  with  a  little  laugh.  "  We 
have  it  to-morrow,  by  the  way.  Mr.  Bruce,  you  can 
not  resist  that  flattery,  I  am  sure." 

"  I  don't  intend  to  try,"  said  he  in  a  low  tone. 
"My  sister  says  I  spoil  her,  but  the  child  seems 
angelic  to  me." 

Still  clinging  to  Rosamond,  Marjorie  said  to  the 
saleswoman,  — 

"Please  give  me  the  great  white  swan,"  confi 
dently  holding  out  her  little  hoard.  Bruce,  over  the 
child's  head,  gave  an  acquiescent  nod. 

"  But,  Marjorie,"  said  Edith,  "  what  is  it  good 
for?  It  is  too  large  for  a  paper-weight,  and  it 
doesn't  hold  flowers." 

The  sisters  looked  at  each  other  gently,  but  with, 


AUNT  SERENA.  265 

perhaps,  as  much  sympathetic  comprehension,  the 
one  of  the  other,  as  a  sky-lark  and  a  sparrow  might 
be  supposed  to  feel. 

"It  is  pretty,  like  mamma,"  said  the  little  one 
at  length. 

"  You  have  nothing  at  all  for  papa,"  Edith  re 
monstrated. 

"Papa  knows  I  love  him,"  replied  Marjorie  in 
blissful  security,  "  and  mamma  will  allow  him  to 
look  at  the  swan." 

Mr.  Bruce  ordered  the  swan  sent  home.  It  was 
very  unwise  in  him.  It  did  not  inculcate  habits  of 
economy  and  exactness  in  his  little  niece.  But 
what  could  one  expect  of  a  bachelor?  And  then, 
there  were  other  eyes  than  Marjorie's,  that  begged 
and  thanked  him.  Marjorie's,  in  fact,  did  not  thank 
him.  The  contented  little  maid  labored  under  the 
impression  that  she  had  bought  and  paid  for  the 
wondrous  bird. 

The  following  evening  Rosamond  heard  "  Lohen 
grin  "  for  the  first  time,  and  saw  the  mystic  knight 
of  the  swan,  whom  Marjorie  called  the  sad  fairy 
prince.  Aunt  Serena  smiled  to  find  herself  often  in 
the  "Wynburg  theatre,  well  pleased,  and  decidedly  at 
home.  "Why,"  she  thought,  "can  we  not  have  the 
help  of  beautiful  music  and  the  influence  of  master 
minds  brought  within  the  reach  of  moderate  means, 
and  at  so  early  an  hour  that  neither  the  aged  and 
delicate,  nor  the  very  young,  need  hesitate  to  enjoy 
them  ?  "  She  preferred,  indeed,  that  Rosamond  should 
study  life,  presented  to  her  gaze  in  this  way,  at  the 


266  AUNT  SERENA. 

sensible  hour  of  seven  or  even  half-past  six,  than 
that  she  should  make  too  many  personal  investiga 
tions  and  experiments  in  a  crowded  ball-room.  So 
the  congenial  party  enjoyed  most  charming  evenings 
in  the  pleasant,  and  by  no  means  oppressively  ele 
gant,  little  theatre,  where  people  came  early  in  walk 
ing-dress,  and  went  home  temperately  at  half-pn,st 
nine;  and  the  same  faces,  evening  after  evening., 
grew  as  familiar  as  the  drop-curtain  ;  and  the  home 
like  atmosphere  made  one  forget  that  that  nervous 
little  man  opposite  was  the  Marquis  of  Carabas,  and 
that  the  plainly-dressed,  pretty  young  girls  at  the 
right,  with  cheeks  like  the  sunny  side  of  a  peach, 
and  a  delightfully  fresh  and  wholesome  air,  were 
princesses,  belonging  to  what  Americans  grandilo 
quently  term  the  "  effete  aristocracy  of  the  old 
world." 

Aunt  Serena  was  an  excellent  American ;  but 
there  was  much  that  puzzled  her  in  the  prosperous, 
well-governed  land  in  which  she  was  sojourning. 
What  she  observed  did  not  always  seem  to  assimi 
late  with  the  uncontradicted  eloquence  of  a  Fourth- 
of-July  oration.  "  Why  do  we  think  we  are  the 
only  ones?  We  are  very  far  off,"  she  mused  this 
evening.  ' '  Perhaps  if  we  were  nearer, ' '  —  when  the 
orchestra,  with  the  thrilling,  expectant  strains  of  the 
overture  to  Lohengrin,  interrupted  her  gentle  medi 
tations. 

The  whole  fashionable  world  of  Wynburg  was 
there  that  night,  and  the  house  wore  a  holiday  air. 
The  singers  were  in  excellent  voice,  the  audience 


AUNT  SERENA.  267 

was  in  a  sympathetic  and  approving  humor,  the 
representation  promised  to  be  a  brilliant  one.  But 
Rosamond  had  no  eyes  for  the  loges,  where  pretty 
women  and  diamonds  and  uniforms  and  decora 
tions  might  well  have  attracted  a  passing  glance  of 
pleasure  from  the  little  maid  of  the  remote,  still 
Nest.  She  was  unaware,  though  Bruce  was  not,  of 
the  continued  levelling  of  glasses  towards  the  Ray 
mond  loge,  where,  behind  Mrs.  Raymond,  always 
herself  a  charming  figm-e,  and  the  lovely  old  lady 
whom  people  liked  to  see,  sat  a  beautiful  young  girl 
in  white,  her  eager  eyes  fixed  on  Elsa  of  Brabant. 

From  the  moment  the  innocent  Elsa,  with  her  soft, 
clinging  grace  and  exquisite  womanliness,  stood  be 
fore  her  dark  accuser  and  the  people,  and  implored 
Heaven  to  send  to  her  rescue  the  fair  knight  of  her 
dreams,  Rose  lived  with  her  through  every  phase  of 
the  beautiful  story. 

Bruce  watched  on  her  face,  as  in  a  deep,  clear 
lake,  the  reflection  of  all  that  passed.  There  was  a 
dangerous  sweetness  in  thus  gazing  into  her  trans 
parent  soul.  She  was  sitting  so  near  him,  he  could 
feel  every  breath  she  drew.  Sometimes  she  would 
hold  it,  in  suspense  and  sympathy.  Her  rich,  heavy 
hair  was  put  back  simply  from  broad,  level  brows. 
It  waved  slightly  at  the  temples ;  and  the  right  side 
did  not  grow  quite  like  the  left,  as  he  had  noticed 
many  times.  Her  eyes,  by  day  a  brilliant  light- 
brown,  were  dark  and  luminous  with  excitement. 
Her  close  white  dress,  of  some  heavy  material,  was 
severely  plain.  She  might  be  a  priestess  of  Arte- 


268  AUNT  SEEENA. 

mis,  he  thought.  But  on  her  face  was  an  emotion 
scarcely  requisite  in  the  worship  of  the  cold  god 
dess.  The  vast  problems,  the  passion  and  ecstasies 
and  mysticism  of  the  music,  and  the  theme,  were 
swaying  the  impressionable,  inexperienced  girl  be 
yond  all  control. 

He  could  almost  see  her  pure  spirit  soaring  to 
wards  the  heights  of  Monsalvat,  as  the  ineffable 
strain  of  the  Holy  Grail  passed,  returned,  and 
passed  again ;  while  she  clasped  her  hands  tightly 
together  as  the  rich,  swelling,  emotional  harmonies, 
with  their  conflict  of  human  pain  and  human  sweet 
ness,  swept  her  maiden  soul  along  in  their  mighty 
movement. 

Between  the  acts  she  did  not  talk  much.  Bruce 
spoke  to  her  now  and  then,  gently  adapting  himself 
to  her  mood.  She  would  answer  him  sweetly,  with 
out  effort,  sometimes  hardly  looking  at  him.  It  was 
almost  as  if  he  were  in  harmony  with  her  thoughts. 
He  was  convinced  that  at  least  his  presence  created 
no  dissonance.  He  was  filled  with  exultation.  His 
heart  beat  fast,  and  an  imperious  instinct  bade  him 
claim  his  own.  "I  have  waited  too  long.  By  the 
paltry  measurement  of  men,  it  is  a  few  brief  weeks  ; 
but  my  soul  has  been  waiting  for  her  through  the 
ages."  He  raised  his  opera-glass,  and  quietly 
studied  the  opposite  gallery.  His  sister  spoke :  he 
listened  with  attention.  Aunt  Serena  turned,  and 
saw  that  Rosamond  was  no  longer  in  Wynburg,  but 
on  the  broad  plains  of  the  Scheldt.  "  My  dear  and 
happy  Hose,"  she  thought ;  and  her  smile  was  full  of 


AUNT  SERENA.  269 

such  tender  sweetness,  as  she  replied  to  Mrs.  Ray 
mond's  light  remark,  that  a  certain  very  august  but 
kindly  and  human  personage  was  prompted  to  say 
to  his  first  gentleman-in-waiting,  "Who  is  that  white- 
haired  old  lady?"  After  which,  aunt  Serena  im 
mediately,  and  quite  unconscious  of  her  own  agility, 
sprang  up  several  rounds  of  the  Wynburg  social 
ladder. 

The  chatter  and  movement  went  on  in  the  adjacent 
loges.  There  were  charming  women  and  distinguished 
men  there.  What  was  it  that  made  this  simple  little 
girl,  with  her  large  eyes,  seem  to  have  nothing  ir 
common  with  them  all  ?  Why  were  they  two  alone 
in  the  crowded,  brilliant  theatre  ?  Gentle  Elsa  stands 
on  her  balcony  at  night,  — white-robed,  golden-haired, 
gracious,  and  pitiful,  — the  incarnation  of  womanli 
ness,  her  pure  heart  throbbing  with  innocent  rapture, 

—  rosy  auroras  dawning   in   infinite   love-horizons. 
Motionless  by  his  side,  all  in  vestal  white,  sat   this 
fair   child-woman,   who   had  won  his   strong   love. 
The  wonderful  music  was  passionately  beating  out 
its  subtle  soul-problems.     Opposite  him  were  some 
avowed  beauties,  their  faces  as  thoroughly  prepared 
for  inspection  as  if  the  world  were  a  perpetual  photo 
grapher,  always  adjusting  his  camera.     What  dicl 
their  lovely  masks  lack?     What  this  calm,  saiutly, 
silvery-haired  being  had  never  lost.    What  his  sister 

—  dear  woman  —  had  found  when  she  found  Rose. 
What  Rose  herself,  with  her  rich  warmth,  her  strong 
enthusiasm,  her  magnificent  impulse,  had  most  of  all 
Was  it  not  a  glory  in  this  living  world  to  be  merely 


270  AUNT  SERENA. 

so  alive  as  she  ?  Yet  often,  as  he  looked  at  her,  he 
would  feel  as  he  did  when  Marjorie's  dear,  dreamy 
eyes  rested  upon  his,  with  their  fond  faith  hi  unreal 
ities.  Pathos  swiftly  followed  delight. 

On  the  stage  treacherous  Ortrud  is  disputing 
Elsa's  right  of  precedence,  and  before  the  very  por 
tals  of  the  great  Minster  of  Antwerp  rages  a  fierce 
tumult. 

Rosamond  turned  to  Sydney  with,  — 

' '  Why  should  she  care  for  the  people  ?  She  has 
him." 

Somewhat  as  he  would  explain  a  hidden  meaning 
to  Marjorie,  Bruce  replied,  — 

"It  is  Ortrud's  wicked  plot  to  instil  doubts  in 
Elsa's  mind.  She  loves  Lohengrin,  but  he  withholds 
his  past.  The  mystery  haunts  her." 

Rose  looked  at  him  gravely. 

' '  What  has  the  past  to  do  with  it  ?  It  is  he  that 
she  loves,  and  not  his  past." 

"Women  think  it  of  importance,  —  sometimes," 
answered  Bruce  with  a  faint  smile. 

"I  do  not  understand,"  she  said  slowly,  as  the 
curtain  was  rising  on  the  last  act.  "  With  him  near, 
how  can  she  listen  to  them  ?  It  would  be  as  if  there 
were  no  one  else  on  earth ; ' '  and  her  low,  sweet 
wordt  were  more  to  herself  than  to  him. 

An  impetuous,  ardent  answer  sprang  to  his  lips. 
Already  she  was  far  away  from  him,  her  entranced 
gaze  watching  every  movement  of  the  lovers,  the 
joyous  bridal  chorus  pealing  in  her  ears. 

But  when  the  loving,  gracious  woman,  transformed 


AUNT  SEEENA.  271 

by  suspicion,  in  a  frenzy  of  jealous  doubt,  rashly 
asks  the  fatal  question,  Rosamond  leaned  forward 
with  a  long,  shuddering  breath. 

' '  Oh,  she  must  not ! ' '  she  exclaimed  softly.    ' '  She 
promised."     And  still  more  softly,  as  if  to  her  own 
heart,  "  I  would  not  ask  him.     Oh,  I  would  not ! ' 
she  murmured. 

All  around,  it  was  dim  and  hushed.  The  theatre- 
lights  were  turned  down.  She  was  still  leaning  for 
ward,  white,  and  very  fair  and  sweet,  so  near  him 
that  her  light  breath  touched  his  cheek.  He  could 
have  taken  her  in  his  arms  almost  without  moving. 
He  could  have  kissed  that  queer  little  irregular  line 
of  hair  on  her  left  temple,  and  scarcely  bent  his 
head.  He  had  not  meant  to  speak  with  the  great 
world  near.  But  his  reticence  and  his  careful  plans 
vanished.  He  forgot  even  that  he  had  no  rights,  no 
denned  place  with  her ;  and,  as  if  they  were  long- 
plighted  lovers,  who  had  together  discussed  all 
sweet  old  questions  of  human  love  and  faith,  he 
said,  with  a  deep  tenderness  she  had  never  heard 
from  any  man,  — 

"  Would  you  not  —  dear?  " 

One  imperceptible  instant,  as  if  she  had  not  heard 
aright,  her  large,  startled  eyes  met  his  strong,  ardent 
gaze,  then  drooped ;  and  in  her  heart  was  a  happy 
tumult.  The  music  surged  in  great  waves  around 
her,  rising  and  falling  in  a  new  and  wonderful 
rhythm.  With  shy,  sweet  eyelids  down  she  still 
saw  the  bridal-chamber :  but,  by  a  strange  metamor 
phosis,  it  was  not  Elsa  in  the  oriel-window,  but  only 


272  AUNT  SEE  EN  A. 

little  Rose ;  and  by  her  side  was  not  Lohengrin, 
but  another,  also  a  stately  man  with  grave  eyesj 
and  he,  this  one,  was  asking  for  her  faith  in  low 
words  that  she  heard  clearer  than  the  blare  of  the 
trumpets  and  the  prolonged  rolling  of  the  drums. 
This  was  what  it  all  meant,  then.  Could  she  be 
true  to  him  ?  Could  she  have  faith  in  him,  —  for 
him  against  the  world?  She  raised  her  eyes.  His 
were  still  upon  her.  From  his  fine,  expressive, 
emphatic  face,  the  calm  indulgence  she  had  known 
had  vanished.  She  saw  only  unspeakable  entreaty. 
She  was  a  child  still ;  and  her  head  was  filled  with 
innocent,  romantic  fancies.  The  story  on  the  stage 
was  approaching  its  end.  The  music  was  heavy 
and  weird  with  doom,  wild  with  mystery.  Looking 
him  full  in  the  face  she  smiled  a  slow,  rapt  smile, 
and  thus  all  silently  pledged  her  faith.  It  was, 
indeed,  her  faith  rather  than  her  love  that  she  first 
promised  him  in  that  long,  loyal  look.  Then,  feel 
ing  the  strong  love  in  his  eyes,  she  turned  away  with 
a  great,  sweet  shyness  creeping  into  her  heart. 

A  few  brief  moments,  and  their  world  was  trans 
formed.  It  was  only  words  such  as  one  hears  every 
day,  a  man's  earnest  look,  a  girl's  impassioned, 
trustful  smile ;  but  already  they  two  were  wander 
ing  in  Elysian  fields. 

The  theatre-lights  are  still  dim.  Elsa  of  Brabant 
lies  fainting  in  the  arms  of  her  women.  She  has  lost 
her  glorious  knight.  The  weak,  sweet  woman  could 
not  trust  unquestioning,  though  he  stood  before  her 
like  a  fair,  strong  god.  The  last  strains  of  music 


AUNT  SERENA.  273 

cease.  The  curtain  falls.  One  love-story  is  at  an 
end  ;  another  has  begun.  The  people  are  rising  to 
go.  Dear  aunt  Serena  says  placidly,  as  they  enter 
the  cloak-room,  "  How  beautiful  it  has  been  !  "  and 
scans  her  child's  illumined  face.  Mrs.  Raymond 
remarks  kindly,  "  Miss  Welleslcy  is  still  seeing 
wonders.  Is  it  a  vision  of  the  knights  of  the  San 
Grail?  I  must  confess,  "Wagner  is  too  mystical  for 
me.  He  works  one  up,  and  never  calms  one  down 
again.  He  leaves  one  quivering  with  emotion,  until 
contact  with  the  world  is  like  a  sharp  blow  in  the 
face.  Now,  he  can't  expect  anybody  to  live  up  to 
him,  can  he?  Perhaps  you  others  do ;  but  I  am  not 
on  your  heights,  you  know.  Mr.  Raymond  and  I 
prefer  a  comfortable  and  less  exposed  location." 
She  smilingly  adjusted  her  opera-cloak.  "  It  is  not 
as  sublime ;  but  then,  one  does  not  get  blown  off 
one's  feet."  At  which  remark  her  husband's 
unquestionably  firm  and  well-poised  figure  presents 
itself. 

He  takes  his  wife  and  aunt  Serena  down.  Bruce 
draws  Rose's  hand  through  his  arm,  and  they  follow 
through  the  crowded  corridors.  There  is  no  oppor 
tunity  for  any  word  which  the  world  may  not  iiear. 
Rose  walks  sedately  by  his  side,  and  never  glances 
once  at  him.  But  in  her  eyes  is  a  tender  light,  and 
her  happy  young  mouth  trembles.  She  hardly  knows 
herself  what  great  and  wonderful  thing  it  is  that 
has  happened.  The  music  and  the  people  and  the 
lights  and  two  living  Elsas  and  two  Lohengrins  are 
mingling  in  strange  confusion  in  the  young  girl's 
thoughts. 


274  AUNT  SERENA. 

Down  the  stairs  she  goes,  as  in  a  dream.  She 
has  walked  with  Mr.  Bruce,  in  those  careless  days, 
—  a  lifetime  ago,  —  before  she  stood  in  the  oriel- 
window,  and  promised  him  her  faith.  But  no :  that 
was  the  other  maiden ;  and  she  broke  her  faith ; 
and  her  lover  was  floating  away  over  broad  waters. 
Here  is  hers,  by  her  side,  holding  her  close  on  his 
arm,  his  beautiful  head  bending  towards  her,  saying 
something  calmly  about  "  to-morrow."  And  now 
the  chill  air  strikes  her  flushed  cheeks,  and  the  cold, 
bright  stars  are  shining  down  on  the  happy  Christ 
mas  weather.  There  is  a  noise  and  bustle,  a  rolling 
of  wheels  on  the  crisp  snow,  a  stamping  of  im 
patient  hoofs,  kind  good-nights  exchanged.  He  puts 
her  in  the  carriage  with  aunt  Serena,  and  stands  an 
instant,  the  light  shining  on  his  uncovered  head. 
Yes,  she  had  promised  him  something,  —  promised 
it  for  all  her  life. 

Her  hand  crept  into  aunt  Serena's,  but  she  said 
nothing.  They  drove  home  in  silence.  "Dearest 
child,  my  good  little  Rose,"  murmured  aunt  Serena, 
with  her  good- night  kiss.  "Dear  little  fairy  god 
mother,"  returned  the  girl  softly;  and  went  away 
alone,  to  see  one  face,  to  hear  one  voice,  — 

« '  Would  you  not  —  dear  ? ' ' 


AUNT  SERENA.  275 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

"  Here's  happiness  to  all,  abroad  and  at  home. 

"Wassail!  wassail! 
Here's  happiness  to  all,  for  Christmas  is  come." 

"  T  TOLD    Mr.  Bruce,"  remarked  aunt  Serena, 

-L  rolling  a  large  doll  in  tissue  paper,  preparatory 
to  laying  her  in  a  box,  and  finding  some  difficulty  in 
the  disposition  of  her  feet,  "  that  we  should  be  too 
busy  this  morning  with  parcels  and  strings  to  enter 
tain  visitors.  Was  that  right,  children?  " 

"Why  ask  us,  aunt  Serena?"  said  Gertrude 
brightly.  "He  comes  to  see  you.  I  never  knew 
any  thing  more  apparent.  All  the  American  belles 
in  Wynburg  are  jealous  of  you  for  your  deliberate 
appropriation  of  their  most  desirable  cavalier." 

' '  He  said  he  wished  to  see  me  to-day,  at  all 
events,"  answered  aunt  Serena  quietly.  She  did 
not  look  at  Rose.  Blessed  are  the  women  who  are 
not  addicted  to  giving  significant  glances  ! 

"  He  is  devoted  to  you.  He  is  your  slave,"  Ger 
trude  remarked  cordially.  "  May  I  have  a  bit  of 
this  red  ribbon  to  tie  up  Molly's  music-case?  Pool 
Molly !  I  wish  they  wouldn't  make  her  study 
music.  She's  the  least  musical  person  I  ever  saw, 
—  except  Daisy." 

Harold  gave  an  abrupt,  grim  laugh.    He  was  feel- 


276  AUNT  SEEENA. 

ing  very  uncomfortable.  Life  was  not  to  him  all 
that  it  might  be  this  Christmas  Eve.  It  was  imme 
diately  after  breakfast ;  and  the  three  ladies  were 
busily  making  parcels  of  all  sizes  and  shapes,  neat 
ly  wrapped  in  white  paper,  and  tied  with  bright 
ribbons.  He  stood  moody  and  silent  in  the  deep 
window.  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein  rode  out  of  the 
court,  and  glanced  up  with  a  friendly  greeting.  He 
looked  gallant  and  dauntless  as  young  Lochinvar. 
"  Happy  man  !  "  groaned  Harold.  "  He  announces 
that  he  is  engaged  to  his  cousin  Olga,  which  saves 
his  honor ;  and  then  he  makes  desperate  love  to 
every  girl  he  meets.  I  wish  I  were  a  German  of 
ficer.  They  seem  to  know  how  to  reconcile  duty 
and  inclination  better  than  most  of  us." 

"There's  von  Falkensteiu,"  he  said  aloud. 

"I  do  like  him,"  Gertrude  remarked,  searching 
for  the  scissors.  "  He  is  so  light-hearted." 

"Do  you  consider  it  a  virtue  to  be  light-heart 
ed?"  asked  Harold  in  a  melancholy  voice. 

"  Yes,"  said  Gertrude  gravely. 

They  all  laughed.  Curiously  enough,  Harold  at 
once  grew  cheerful.  Von  Falkenstein  himself  could 
not  have  been  a  more  blithe  and  brisk  companion. 

Rosamond  seemed  to  be  too  busy  to  talk  much. 
She  made  the  neatest  little  parcels,  as  if  her  life 
depen  led  on  having  them  quite  even,  and  laid  them, 
labelled,  on  the  table.  It  was  quiet  Gertrude,  this 
morning,  who  was  in  high  spirits. 

"Why  do  you  wrap  up  all  those  things  ?  "  asked 
Harold. 


AUNT  SEEENA.  277 

"  Foi  the  pleasure  it  gives  to  unwrap  them,"  said 
Gertrude.  "Is  there  no  charm  in  mystery?  Why 
do  novelists  tangle  a  plot,  except  to  ravel  it?  " 

"  I  abhor  tangled  plots.  I  like  a  story  to  be  clear 
and  healthy,  well  understood  from  first  to  last,  and 
sure  as  the  flight  of  an  arrow.  It  is  no  pleasure 
to  me  to  see  a  man  in  a  disagreeably  involved  poui- 
tion,  even  in  a  book."  He  spoke  with  much  feel 
ing. 

' '  You  like  him  to  be  monarch  of  all  he  surveys  ? 
But  that  is  not  good  for  men,  Mr.  Thornton,"  said 
the  girl  with  a  charming  smile.  How  much  or  how 
little  Gertrude  understood,  neither  Harold  nor.  any 
one  else  ever  knew.  But  girls  who  must  look  the 
rough  world  in  the  face  from  the  time  they  are 
twelve  years  old,  girls  who  lay  down  their  dolls  to 
take  up  grief  and  pain,  are  apt  to  have  an  extra 
sense  in  each  intuitive  finger-tip. 

"I  am  very  old-fashioned,  and  not  intellectual; 
but  the  heroes  I  like  least  in  modern  books,"  said 
aunt  Serena,  struggling  with  a  large  toy  for  Percy 
Raymond,  which  was  wanting  in  symmetry  and 
abounding  in  springs,  "are  those  who  sit  flat  on 
the  stones  on  a  beach,  in  the  dark  night,  before  a 
'  simple  '  sea,  and,  observing  that  their  hearts  beat, 
stolidly  remark,  '  I  am  in  love.'  It  does  not  seem  to 
me  that  love  is  a  hypochondriac,  painfully  analyzing 
his  symptoms." 

' '  They  measure  love  with  the  fever- thermometer 
nowadays,"  remarked  Gertrude  dryly. 

"Every  one  does  not,"  Rosamond  said  softly 


278  AUNT  SERENA. 

Her  thoughts  were  with  Els  a  of  Brabant.  "They 
did  not  give  her  time,  poor  Elsa  !  "  she  said  to  her 
self  pityingly,  as  she  shaped  the  corners  of  her  pack 
ages  with  a  business-like  air.  ' '  They  did  not  give 
her  time.  She  had  promised  him.  She  would  never, 
never  have  done  it,  if  they  had  given  her  time.  I 
will  remember  that." 

"  No,  every  one  does  not,"  repeated  Harold  stur 
dily,  with  a  bold,  clear  glance  at  Gertrude.  He  was 
like  a  young  Norseman,  with  his  yellow  hair  and 
strong  blue  eyes.  The  Northern  sunshine  was  in  his 
smile.  Gertrude  cared  for  sunshine,  she  had  had  so 
little.  "Every  man  does  not  dissect  his  lady-love, 
and  declare  himself  to  her  separate  sections.  Every 
one  does  not  prefer  types  to  women,  and  qualitative 
analyses  to  emotions.  There  is  still  room  in  the 
world  far  us,  thank  Heaven." 

"You  mean  the  writer  whose  well-bred  people 
always  look  at  the  carpet,  and  say,  'Ah  ? '  and  whose 
ill-bred  people  look  everywhere,  and  say,  '  Well ! ' 
do  you  not?"  asked  Gertrude,  smiling.  "  But  we 
must  not  devote  our  attention  to  unimportant  things. 
We  have  not  too  much  time,  or  enough  tissue-paper. 
Who  can  bring  some  quickest  ? ' ' 

Harold  disappeared. 

"How  did  Mrs.  Raymond  ever  ask  Molly  and 
Daisy  without  Mrs.  Lancaster,  and  give  no  offence  ? 
asked  Gertrude.  "  Mrs.  Lancaster  is  highly  pleased. 
But  only  last  year  she  was  exceedingly  irate  when 
some  one  wished  to  separate  her  from  them.  '  Christ 
mas,'  she  remarked,  '  is  the  appropriate  time  to  cul- 


AUNT  SEEENA.  279 

tivate  the  sentiment  of  family  unity.  Molly  and 
Daisy  remain  with  their  mamma.'  It  is  bad  in  me 
to  laugh  at  her,"  she  added  good-naturedly,  "  for 
she  is  really  devoted  to  her  girls.  But  sometimes 
she  is  deliciously  sententious." 

"  Mrs.  Raymond  did  it  as  she  does  every  thing,  — 
with  honesty  and  grace.  She  said  she  was  inviting 
no  older  people,  except  very  intimate  friends ;  but, 
if  Molly  and  Daisy  would  enjoy  seeing  the  tree,  she 
should  be  charmed  to  have  them  come.  I  ventured 
to  add  that  I  would  take  care  of  them,  and  bring 
them  safely  home ;  and  Mrs.  Lancaster  accepted, 
with,  I  think,  sufficient  security  of  mind."  Aunt 
Serena  smiled  slightly. 

"And  to-morrow  we  are  to  cultivate  family  unity 
here.  Frau  Rudolph  is  inimitable,  when  once  a  year 
she  regally  receives  us  as  guests.  How  beautiful  it 
all  is  !  Rose,  you  have  told  me  nothing  about  Lohen 
grin.  Was  Elsa  not  perfect  ?  I  think,  when  Nature 
made  Wagner,  she  had  already  designed  Fraulein 
Rccler  to  play  his  Elsa  and  Elizabeth.  Is  she  not 
pure  grace  and  pure  graciousness  ? ' ' 

"  Elsa  was  lovely,"  said  Rose  quietly.  "It  is  a 
pity  she  asked  him  his  name." 

"  Women  always  ask  in  stories.  We  invariably, 
at  a  critical  moment,  do  the  thing  we  solemnly 
vowed  not  to  do.  We  either  tell  all  we  know,  or 
frantically  insist  upon  knowing  all  that  some  one 
else  knows.  There  are  moments  when  I  despise  — 
us !  Do  you  think  there  is  any  fatal  compulsion 
about  it,  aunt  Serena  ?  Do  you  believe  we  must  be 
small  and  mean? " 


280  '  AUNT  SERENA. 

"  If  we  hadn't  the  tendency,  I  presume  we  should 
not  serve  as  examples  in  so  many  great  tragedies," 
Miss  Lennox  admitted  with  much  cheerfulness. 
"  But  I  think  you,  at  least,  need  not  reproach  your 
self,  Gertrude.  I  cannot  imagine  you  in  any  posi 
tion  in  which  you  would  divulge  a  word  more  than 
you  ought.  You  could  be  as  silent  as  fate." 

"But  I  am  a  cold,  gray  girl.  I  am  not  lovable, 
you  know,"  said  Gertrude,  laughing.  "It  is  the 
beautiful,  warm,  soft,  enchanting  women,  who  love 
vind  who  are  loved,  that  do  ah1  the  harm,  —  like 
Rose,"  she  added  mischievously. 

Eose  stopped  short  in  her  work.  With,  an  ear 
nestness  surprising  to  the  others,  merely  jesting  in 
the  midst  of  their  tying  of  knots  and  writing  of 
inscriptions  on  Christmas  cards,  she  said,  — 

"Do  you  really  think  I  am  like  that?  But  I 
would  never  have  asked  Lohengrin,  never."  Her 
voice  was  low  and  firm. 

"We  always  think  we  would  not,  and  then  we 
invariably  do,"  Gertrude  retorted  gayly. 

Rose  looked  seriously  at  her. 

"It  does  not  seem  to  me  it  would  be  impossible 
to  be  faithful,"  she  said  quietly,  and  went  on  with 
her  work.  She  saw  a  shining  knight,  who  bent  lis 
lofty  head  to  gaze  at  her  with  imperious  yet  plead 
ing  eyes.  No  :  life  itself  would  be  worthless,  if  she 
could  not  always  bravely  meet  those  eyes,  if  ever 
they  must  look  at  her  with  pity,  reproach,  and  for 
giveness,  and  pain  and  parting,  in  their  tender  depths. 

Ah !  how  would  they  look   at  her  this  evening  ? 


AUNT  SERENA.  281 

Last  night  was  already  so  far  away.  A  ant  Serena 
appeared  quite  as  usual,  and  very  busy.  There  was 
dear  Gertrude,  in  her  brown  walking-dress,  looking 
as  unconcerned  as  if  nothing  had  happened.  No 
one  seemed  to  know.  No  one  seemed  to  read  in 
her  face  that  something  beautiful  had  come,  that 
she  could  never  be  the  same  again.  It  was  very 
strange.  How  had  she  dared  to  smile  so  at  him? 
Had  she  spoken?  Had  she  said,  "  I  will  be  true  to 
you  as  long  as  I  live.  I  will  never  doubt  you.  I 
will  never  forsake  you  "  ?  Or  was  it  the  music  in 
throbbing  cadences  that  said  it  all?  Or  was  it  quite 
unspoken,  yet  written  for  all  time  on  each  soul? 
She  smiled  softly.  She  was  very  happy. 

Mrs.  Vivien  came  brightly  in. 

' '  Dear  Miss  Lennox,  may  I  ask  a  favor  of  you  ? 
Oh,  don't  stop  work  for  me,  young  ladies.  What 
a  little  mountain  of  packages  you  have  there,  and 
how  cheerful  you  all  look  ! ' ' 

"What  can  I  do  for  you,  Mrs.  Vivien?"  aunt 
Serena  asked  politely. 

"It  is  only  to  let  my  little  gifts  for  Edith  and 
Marjorie  go  over  with  yours." 

"  That  I  can  do  without  the  least  trouble." 

"You  are  so  very  kind !  How  exhilarating  this 
pleasant  Christmas  work  is !  Miss  Peyton,  you 
must  enjoy  it  particularly." 

"Yes,  I  do,"  Gertrude  answered,  not  without 
bluntness. 

"I  enjoy  it  most  of  all,  I  think,"  said  Rose  with 
great  tranquillity. 


282  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"Ah,  life  is  indeed  a  lovely  garden  for  you,  Miss 
Wellesley  !  But  let  me  advise  you :  pluck  no  bril 
liant  poison-flowers.  Be  content  with  heart' s-ease 
and  forget-me-not.  They  suit  your  youth." 

Rose  looked  bewildered.     Gertrude  smiled. 

Aunt  Serena  said,  in  a  matter-of-fact  tone,  — 

"I  have  not  yet  seen  a  poisonous  flower  in  Ger 
many.  In  Northbrooke  we  have  the  wakerobin  and 
the  mercury- vine." 

"Oh!  I  refer  to  a  still  deadlier  blossom.  It  at 
tracts,  but  it  kills.  It  has  proved  fatal  to  many." 

'"Indeed!"  remarked  aunt  Serena,  with  polite 
but  remote  interest. 

Gertrude's  keen  eyes  watched  Mrs.  Vivien  closely. 
"Eyelids  clown!  She  means  mischief!"  Rosa 
mond's  face  wore  a  questioning  smile.  The  flowery 
warning  amused  her. 

"I  saw  you  at  the  opera  last  night,"  the  little 
lady  continued.  "How  could  poor  Mr.  Thornton 
let  you  leave  him  ?  And  in  such  fascinating  society 
too  !  My  cousin,  who  knows  Mr.  Bruce  intimately, 
—  most  intimate!}7  indeed, — says  he  was  every 
where,  in  old  times,  called  the  '  fascinating  Mr. 
Bruce.'  That  was  when  they  were  —  but  I  must 
not  tell  their  little  secrets.  Oh,  no,  not  I!"  and 
she  laughed  gayly. 

Rose  surveyed  her  with  a  certain  cold  disgust. 
She  began  rolling  up  a  long  piece  of  narrow  scarlet 
ribbon.  She  took  care  to  keep  it  smooth. 

"I  cannot  imagine  that  adjective  applied  to 
him,"  aunt  Serena  said  pleasantly.  "He  might  be 


AUNT  SERENA.  283 

called  an  earnest  man,  a  strong  man,  an  inteiesting 
man  ;  but  what  women  usually  mean  when  they  say 
a  fascinating  man,  — hardly." 

"But  it  was  when  he  was  younger,"  Mrs.  Vivien 
said  with  effusion;  "when  he  was  quite  different., 
you  know,  and  having  his  various  delicate  experi 
ences.  He  has  had  enough,  I  assure  you.  Then, 
don't  you  find  his  very  reserve  and  quiet  extremely 
attractive?  Don't  you,  now,  Miss  Wellesley?" 
turning  suddenly  to  the  girl  who  stood  there,  her 
heart  helplessly  protesting  against  the  profanation 
of  its  temple.  How  dared  this  woman,  with  her 
loud  tread,  and  rude,  unfeeling  touch,  enter  that 
white,  still  place,  where  she  herself  scarcely  dared 
raise  her  eyes  ?  But  Rose  came  of  a  gallant  race. 
Surprised,  she  was  not  disconcerted. 

"Yes,  very,"  she  said  coolly,  her  large,  fearless 
eyes  on  Mrs.  Vivien,  her  hands  winding  away 
mechanically. 

"Bravo,  Roslein!"  thought  Gertrude. 

Aunt  Serena  smiled.  "  My  brave  Rose.  How 
well  she  did  it !  And  to-day,  when  her  young  heart 
is  fairly  bewildered  with  life's  new,  wonderful  mean 
ing  !" 

"  Mrs.  Vivien."  she  said,  "  we  all  like  Mr.  Bruce. 
We  mereij  have  a  slight  prejudice  against  the 
piirase  'fascinating  man.'' 

"A  fascinating  man  is  simply  an  odious  man," 
Gertrude  remarked  with  emphasis. 

"Dear,  dear!"  Mrs.  Vivien  exclaimed,  with  a 
light  laugh.  "  I  had  no  idea  you  would  have  any 


284  AUNT  SERENA. 

special  reason  here  to  fight  Mr.  Brace's  battles. 
Had  I  imagined  that,  I  would  never  have  called 
him  fascinating,  or  alluded  to  his  youthful  esca 
pades." 

' '  Who  rashly  talks  of  battles  on  blessed  Christ 
mas  Eve?"  said  Rose  amicably.  "Mrs.  Vivien, 
did  aunt  Serena  show  you  this  interesting  frog  ?  I 
will  wind  him  up  for  you.  His  hop  is  as  spirited 
and  independent  as  if  life  instead  of  works  instigated 
it.  It  is  for  little  Percy." 

"How  she  guards  him!  How  she  loves  him!" 
and  a  contented  smile  rounded  Gertrude's  thin  lips. 
She  looked  up,  and  saw  that  aunt  Serena  read  and 
shared  her  thought. 

Mrs.  Vivien  was  vivaciously  charmed  with  the 
frog.  "Another  time,"  she  resolved.  "There  is 
more  in  it  than  I  imagined.  I  must  write  her  at 
once." 

She  rose  to  go,  with  gentle  words  of  endearment 
and  approval.  ' '  Can  I  not  assist  you  ?  No  ?  You 
have  really  completed  all  your  arrangements  ?  And 
you  go  this  evening  too,  Miss  Lennox?  What  un 
flinching  energy  you  have !  Always  out  evenings, 
always  going  about,  always  eager  for  amusement.  If 
J  had  the  right,  dear  Miss  Lennox,  I  should  fairly 
keep  you  at  home  by  force,  now  and  then.  Are  you 
really  quite  as  well  after  so  much  dissipation  ?  Are 
you  sure  it  is  perfectly  judicious  ?  But  do  pardon 
me.  It  is  only  my  real  interest  in  you  that  speaks. 
Thanks  again  for  37our  kindness  about  my  little 
packages.  I  will  bring  them  in  later.  So  very  good 


AUNT  SERENA.  285 

of  you.  Am  delighted  that  you  can  go,  Miss  Pey 
ton.  It  will  be  so  pleasant  and  novel  for  you." 

Eloquent  silence  followed  her  exit. 

Gertrude  broke  it. 

"Now,  why,"  said  she  meditatively,  "why  was 
this  ?  I  ask  in  peace  and  good-will  to  all  women, 
aunt  Serena.  Do  not  be  alarmed :  I  am  not  going 
to  indulge  in  animadversions." 

"  Which  are  never  your  habit,  my  dear." 

"And  to-day  I  simply  cannot.  I  would  like  to 
inquire,  —  merely  as  a  psychological  question,  you 
know,  —  why  we  are  all  arraigned  at  once  ?  Even 
you, — you  giddy,  frivolous,  dissipated  person!" 

"I  think  she  is  disappointed,"  aunt  Serena  said 
kindly,  and  with  perceptible  hesitation.  "  She 
would  like  to  go  to  Mrs.  Raymond's  to-night.  At 
least,  it  seems  so." 

"Disappointed!"  exclaimed  Rose.  "0  Ger 
trude,  aunt  Serena's  gentle  '  disappointed '  covers 
the  sins  of  the  whole  world !  " 

That  evening  at  five  they  drove  to  Mrs.  Ray 
mond's.  They  were  very  merry,  which  may  have 
been  owing  to  the  exhilarating  air  and  brilliantly- 
lighted,  crowded  streets.  Then,  Molly  and  Daisy, 
crowded  into  the  carriage,  and  behaving  with  ex 
treme  propriety,  according  to  their  mamma's  parting 
injunction,  seemed  to  induce  inexplicable  mirth. 
People  rarely  spoke  of  Molly  and  Daisy  without  a 
smile.  Perhaps  it  was  their  smooth,  round  heads. 
Perhaps  it  was  their  flaxen  queues.  Perhaps  it  was 
their  mother.  Rose  laughed  with  the  others.  She 


286  AUNT  SEBENA. 

even  said  one  or  two  very  amusing  things.  All  the 
time  she  thought,  ' '  How  will  he  meet  me  ?  how  will 
he  greet  me?  " 

He  met  her  quietly  in  the  bright  room  where  the 
happy  children  were  and  Mr.  Raymond.  Mrs. 
Raymond  was  not  there.  She  was  putting  last 
touches  on  the  largest  and  most  wonderful  fir-  tree 
which  ever  grew  stately  and  strong  in  aromatic 
shades  of  the  deep  green-wood,  with  the  song  of 
birds  in  its  branches  and  the  free  blue  sky  above, 
to  tower  up  bravely  in  its  last  days  before  breathless 
little  children,  —  a  vision  of  loveliness  and  glory,  a 
dear  memory  for  all  their  lives. 

Behind  closed  doors,  Mrs.  Raymond  was  rapidly 
saying,  — 

"  Now,  if  it  should  not  turn,  Elise?  If  it  should 
tip?  The  tree  is  very  heavy.  Hang  that  largest 
angel  straighter  ;  and  the  '  Star  of  Bethlehem '  on  the 
very  top  looks  crooked.  Wait.  This  branch  needs 
more  snow,  and  that  one  some  frost.  I  must  say 
the  ChiiStmas  roses  are  a  success.  So  much  vivid 
scarlet  and  dead  white  are  always  effective.  And 
the  gold  cherubs  make  the  best  taper-holders  I  have 
ever  used.  Remember  that,  Elise,  for  next  year. 
If  the  music-box  will  only  go  !  It  is  so  unreliable, 
and  has  such  an  unpleasant  way  of  giving  that  dis 
heartening  groan,  and  stopping  short  at 

'  Be  it  ever  so  hum  — '  " 

"  I  think  it  will  go,  madame  ;  and  the  tree  is  per 
fectly  firm.  If  the  music  stops,  the  ladies  and  gen- 


AUNT  SERENA.  287 

tlemen  will  think  madame  desired  it  to  stop  at  that 
moment." 

Mrs.  Raymond  laughed.  "Sure  enough,  Elise. 
So  they  will.  "What  a  comfort !  See  that  all  the 
packages  for  Miss  Lennox's  party  are  together  at 
the  left.  We  are  ready  now,  I  think,  to  light  the 
tapers." 

This  while  her  guests  were  entering  the  salon. 
Rosamond  slipped  a  little  behind  the  others.  She 
saw  Bruce  wish  aunt  Serena  a  "  Merry  Christmas," 
and  kiss  her  hand.  How  pretty  she  looked  in  her 
old  point-lace  and  with  the  faint  color  in  her  cheeks. 
And  white  Gertrude  came  next.  She  was  lovely 
too,  her  fair  hair  almost  with  a  silver  sheen  on  it, 
fairer  than  usual  in  contrast  with  the  deep  wine-red 
of  her  dress.  Harold  was  looking  at  her  hair. 
Bruce,  too,  glanced  at  her  kindly,  and  said  some 
thing  in  his  courteous  way.  Had  she,  Rose  Welles- 
ley,  really  dared  to  —  But  now  he  was  coming  to 
her.  Yes,  it  was  the  same  face.  The  same  clear, 
strong,  beautiful  face  that  had  shone  out  in  the 
dimness,  and  owned  her,  while  the  San  Grail  was 
passii  g  in  the  mystic  music,  and  pure,  high  heavens 
were  opening.  He  merely  drew  her  arm  in  his,  and 
took  her  across  the  room  to  see  his  sister's  new 
Hermes.  Marjorie's  little  hand  crept  into  hers  on 
the  other  side.  She  stooped  to  kiss  the  child,  glad 
of  her  presence.  He  was  kind  to  act  as  if  nothing 
had  happened, — except,  as  he  drew  her  hand  within 
his  arm,  it  was  as  if  a  legion  of  guardian  angels 
were  compassing  her  round  about.  They  stood 


238  AUNT  SERENA. 

before  the  Hermes.  He  looked  down  upon  the 
lovers  with  his  mild,  thoughtful,  pitying  smile. 

"He  has  been  recently  excavated,"  Bruce  ex 
plained.  "Think  of  this  pure  Greek  perfection 
being  buried  so  long ; ' '  and  he  passed  his  hand 
lovingly  over  the  veins  in  the  slender  throat,  and 
the  strong,  young,  athletic  breast  of  the  fair,  white 
god. 

"  What  does  he  say  to  us? "  asked  Rose  softly. 

"  He  says  —  to  us  "  —  and  Bruce  lingered  on  the 
little  word  as  if  it  were  pleasant  to  him —  "  Why, 
then,  are  ye  here?  What  will  ye  become?  Only 
to  live  and  suffer,  to  love  and  die,  —  poor  mortals  ? ' ' 

"But  it  is  enough,"  said  the  young  girl,  her 
grave,  sweet  eyes  on  the  god's  perfect  face.  Tak 
ing  some  violets  from  her  girdle,  she  laid  them 
before  him  on  his  ebony  pedestal. 

"Is  he  a  rogue?"  asked  Marjorie's  clear  tones. 
"Does  he  steal  and  cheat?  Papa  says  he  is  a 
splendid  rascal,  but  I  love  him  because  he  is  so 
beautiful.  Uncle  Cid,  please  lift  me  up  to  kiss 
him." 

"  He  is  what  Fate  made  him,  as  we  all  are," 
Bruce  replied,  with  a  smile  for  Marjorie's  anxious 
eyes.  "But  I  always  like  to  think  of  him  as  'the 
swift  messenger  between  Zeus  and  all  life  wherein 
there  breathes  a  soul.'  See,  there  are  the  broken 
fingers  of  the  infant  Bacchus  on  his  shoulder.  It 
is  the  child  whom  he  regards  with  his  godlike, 
pitying  smile." 

"Why  does  the  white   god  pity?"  asked  little 


AUNT  SERENA.  289 

Marjorie.  "  The  prince  in  '  Dornroschen  '  does  not 
pity." 

"  The  prince  in  '  Doruroschen  '  thinks  only  of  the 
princess  and  himself.  The  white  god  is  thinking 
of  all  souls,"  Rose  ventured  to  explain. 

"Oh,"  said  Marjorie  softly.  Her  child-eyes 
had  assumed  that  alarming  look  of  omniscience 
which  startles  us  now  and  then  in  the  very  young. 

But  now  the  mysterious  doors  were  opening, 
revealing  the  tree,  gleaming  like  hoar-frost  in  the 
moonlight,  bearing  a  glory  of  color  among  its  hun 
dreds  of  tapers,  and  with  a  transparent  silvery  veil 
enhancing  its  splendors, — its  rosy,  shining  fruits, 
its  snowy  branches  and  sharp  icicles,  its  white  float 
ing  angels  and  golden-winged  cherubs. 

It  revolved.  It  did  not  tip.  The  treacherous 
music-box  gave  no  inward  groan,  but  conscien 
tiously  tinkled  out  its  harmonious  "Home,  Sweet 
Home  "  to  the  very  end,  and  began  again  ;  and  the 
wanderers  were  duly  moved  to  give  a  passing  kindly 
thought  to  their  fair  land  beyond  the  sea,  never  in 
deed  quite  forgotten. 

Bruce,  leaving  Hose  and  Marjorie  in  the  guardian 
ship  of  the  subtly  smiling  Greek  god,  slipped  be 
hind  the  little  group  to  the  doorway  where  aunt 
Serena  was  standing  with  Mr.  Raymond,  watching 
the  flushed,  delighted  faces  of  the  children.  Quietly 
dispossessing  Raymond,  much  to  that  gentleman's 
amusement,  Bruce  led  her  into  the  library  opposite. 
He  was  very  grave.  His  eyes  were  dark  with 
strong  emotion. 


290  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"Madame  Serena,"  he  said,  giving  htr  the  little, 
stately  name  which  he  thought  suited  her,  and  which 
had  never  displeased  her,  "  one  day,  long  ago,  —  at 
least  it  seems  long  to  me  since  I  first  had  the  hap 
piness  of  seeing  you,  —  I  gave  into  your  hands  a 
rose.  Dear  Madame  Serena,  will  you  give  her  — 
your  Rose  to  me  now  ?  " 

There  was  utter  silence  in  the  library.  Opposite, 
the  patient  music-box  was  emphatically  reiterating 
"Home,  Sweet  Home;"  the  children's  happy 
laughter,  and  the  warmth  and  cheerful  lights  and 
kindly  voices,  told  the  same  tale  ;  and  here  was  this 
young  man  wanting  a  ' '  Sweet  Home ' '  for  himself 
and  her  little  girl. 

Was  this  not  indeed  what  aunt  Serena  both 
wished  and  expected?  Yet  now  that  it  had  come, 
and  Sydney  Bruce  stood  waiting,  his  handsome, 
earnest  face  bent  down  towards  her,  in  his  manner 
a  fine  deference  and  controlled  eagerness,  it  seemed 
to  her  a  very  solemn,  fateful  moment.  It  was 
Rosamond,  her  child,  that  this  man  wanted.  It 
was  Rosamond's  whole  future  that  was  coming  to 
meet  her  with  swift  bounds.  She  looked  into  the 
honorable,  manly  face  which  she  knew  so  well,  not 
doubting,  yet  seeking  to  prove  him,  to  reach  his 
very  soul.  The  clear  eyes  responded  truth  for 
truth.  He  smiled  a  slow,  kindly,  reassuring  smile 
down  at  this  fine,  anxious,  lovely  old  lady. 

"Madame  Serena,"  he  said,  holding  out  both 
hands,  "  will  you  trust  her  to  me?  " 

Aunt  Serena  was  trembling  a  little.  She  was 
deeply  agitated. 


AUNT  SERENA.  291 

But  holding  herself  bravely  erect,  with  her  state 
liest,  gentlest  grace,  as  befitted  the  giving  of  a  royal 
gift,  she  smiled  back  at  him,  and,  extending  her 
delicate  hands,  said  with  affection,  yet  with  a  cer 
tain  quaint  formality,  — 

"My  dear  friend,  I  will  send  my  niece  Rosa 
mond  to  you." 

Bruce,  much  moved,  stooped,  and  kissed  the 
trembling  hands  that  lay  in  his  own. 

With  a  tender  color  on  her  cheek,  she  went  softly 
in  to  the  others.  In  the  hall,  she  hurriedly  wiped 
away  two  loving  tears  with  her  very  best  point-lace 
handkerchief.  ' '  I  am  a  most  irrational  old  wo 
man,"  she  thought.  "Am  I  trying  to  persuade 
myself  I  am  not  glad?  I  am  most  thoroughly 
glad."  And  then  she  wiped  away  two  tears 
more. 

Mrs.  Raymond,  her  hands  filled  with  packages, 
said  brightly,  as  if  quite  unaware  of  the  signifi 
cance  of  that  tete-a-tete  in  her  library,  — 

"  Miss  Lennox,  it  is  only  once  a  year  that  I  neg 
lect  my  guests  for  the  children ;  but  Youth  reigns 
to-night.  Vive  le  roil  Miss  Wellesley,  your  turn 
and  Miss  Peyton's  come  now ;  then  we  older  ones 
may  presume  to  open  our  boxes,  if  royalty  permits." 

"We  do,  mamma,"  cried  Edith  graciously;  and 
Mrs.  Raymond  hurried  back  to  the  stores  she  was 
distributing. 

"  Child,"  —  and  in  aunt  Serena's  quiet  voice  was 
an  unspeakable  blessing  upon  all  the  fair  years 
that  had  been  and  all  that  were  to  come,  —  "  oui 


292  AUNT  SERENA. 

friend,  Mr.  Bruce,  is  waiting  for  you  in  the  library. 
Go  to  him,  Rosamond." 

He  was  standing  facing  the  half-open  door.  She 
came  softly,  shyly  in,  her  heavy  white  draperies 
clinging  about  her  lithe  form,  her  great  eyes  sol 
emnly  upraised  to  his.  She  looked  slightly  pale, 
and  very  young.  She  walked  directly  towards  him 
hi  simple  obedience  to  his  summons,  as  Marjorie 
might  have  done.  Bruce  was  inexpressibly  touched 
by  it. 

"Rose!  my  little  Rose!"  he  murmured,  placing 
his  hands  gently  on  her  shoulders,  drawing  her 
nearer  and  nearer,  his  steadfast  eyes  begging  her 
to  have  no  fear  of  him. 

The  low  sweetness  of  the  strong  man's  voice,  his 
beautiful  face  bending  down  to  her,  and  his  firm  and 
gentle  hands  holding  her  near,  were  a  wonderful 
revelation  to  happy,  troubled,  trembling  Rose.  "I 
will  be  faithful !  I  will  be  faithful !  "  said  the  pure 
voice  of  her  maiden  soul.  And  into  the  face  of  the 
man  who  loved  her  she  looked  the  same  innocent 
look  of  rapt  devotion  which  had  shone  upon  him 
out  of  the  dusk  the  evening  before,  which  had  an 
swered  his  tender  words  with  its  ineffable  promise. 

He  drew  her  to  his  breast ;  and  on  her  hair,  her 
cheek,  her  fair,  round  neck,  fell  his  light  kisses. 
Her  face  was  hidden  like  a  child's  against  him. 
She  trembled  still,  but  she  did  not  seek  to  escape : 
she  was  offering  up  her  soul  to  him  in  a  passion  of 
loyalty.  Again  she  saw  the  high  oaks  of  the  Nest, 
and  the  lilies  and  the  shining  water,  and  heard,  as 


AUNT  SERENA.  293 

if  it  were  another's,  her  own  prophetic  "  it  must  be 
something  very  grand  and  sweet  and  sad."  And 
now  two  loving  arms  were  holding  her  fast,  and  a 
voice  was  murmuring  half-spoken  words  in  her  ear, 

—  soothing  words,  as  if  she  were  a  little  untamed 
thing,  eager  for  its  freedom.     And  it  was  grand  to 
care  for  such  a  man,  and  promise  him  faith  for  all 
time;  and  it  was  sweet  —  ah,  the  sweetness  of  it! 

—  and  it  was  sad,  with  an  indefinable  sadness.    And 
all  this  the  young  girl  thought,  perhaps  with  her 
happy  heart-beats,  perhaps  with  her  exalted  enrap 
tured  soul ;  for  in  her  head  there  seemed  to  be  only 
a  sweet  confusion  and  immeasurable  wonder,  and 
she  had  no  theories  tc  expound  as  she  had  had  for 
poor  Harold ;    no   words   indeed   for  this    strong, 
stately  lover,  who  took  her  in  his  arms  and  kissed 
her  hair,  and  called  her  his  Rose  of  the  world. 

At  length  he  lifted  her  drooping  head,  and  looked 
at  her. 

"What  ever  sent  you  to  me,  child?"  he  asked 
thoughtfully. 

With  one  of  the  quick  transitions  so  natural  to 
her,  over  her  young  face  flitted  a  light,  amused 
smile  ;  and  she  answered,  — 

"Aloha." 

"I  will  crown  him  king  of  the  beasts.  Was  it 
in  the  woods  that  day  that  he  told  you  to  come, 
dear?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  mute  amazement. 

"But  I  was  near  to  you  even  then.  I  could 
have  stepped  across  the  brook,  and  taken  you  in  my 


294  AUNT  SERENA. 

arms ;  I  could  have  kissed  away  your  tears :  but 
you  would  have  been  angry  then.  I  have  been 
waiting  for  you  ever  since.  I  was  waiting  for  you 
before ;  I  have  always  been  waiting  for  you,  heart 
of  my  heart !  "  and  he  kissed  her  innocent,  wonder 
ing  lips. 

"Miss  Rose,  Miss  Rose!  Please  come!"  cried 
Marjorie  in  the  hall,  then  ran  lightly  into  the  room. 
"  Oh,  uncle  Cid,  do  you  mind?  You  may  have  her 
again,  you  know,  all  the  other  days  ;  but  Christmas 
is  the  children's  day,  and  I'm  going  to  give  mamma 
the  swan." 

"May  I  have  her  all  the  other  days,  little  Mar 
jorie  ? ' ' 

Rosamond  stooped,  and  pressed  her  cheek  against 
the  child's  soft  curls. 

"You  shall  have  her,  Marjorie.  You  have  sacred 
claims  on  her  and  me,  but  I  must  have  you  both ;  " 
and,  led  by  Marjorie,  they  went  back  to  the  others. 

Mrs.  Raymond  came  directly  towards  them. 

"My  dear  child!"  she  said  warmly,  kissing 
Rose  with  a  supremely  delighted  look.  Her  cares 
and  fears  were  at  an  end.  Sydney  was  safely  moored. 

"Why  do  you  kiss  Miss  Rose,  mamma?"  in 
quired  Edith.  "  She  did  not  just  come,  and  it  is 
not  time  for  her  to  go." 

"She  kisses  her  because  she  loves  her,"  ex- 
pi  lined  Marjorie.  "  So  do  I :  so  does  uncle  Cid." 

Mr.  Raymond,  with  one  cordial  word,  welcomed 
the  young  girl  into  their  inner  circle.  Gertrude 
looked  beatific. 


AUNT  SERENA.  295 

It  began  to  seem  less  strange,  now ;  and  every 
body  was  so  kind  !  Presently  Harold  stood  beside 
her :  on  his  face  various  emotions  were  struggling 
for  mastery. 

"  Is  this  true? "  he  asked,  with  a  great,  glad  ring 
in  his  voice. 

"I  think  so." 

"  O  Rose  !  "  and  he  shook  her  hands  vigorously, 
"what  a  dear  you  are  to  get  me  out  of  it!  You 
always  were  the  kindest  girl.  I  have  been  a  mean- 
spirited  'craven,  and  now  I  feel  like  a  god ;  and 
you've  done  it,  Rose,  you've  done  it.  I  never  can 
thank  you  enough.  I  can't  tell  you  now,  but  to 
morrow  I  will,"  he  whispered. 

"But  I  know,  Harold.  I  knew  to-day,  when  I 
saw  you  look  at  her.  Why  did  you  mind  me,  dear 
boy?  You  ought  to  have  been  sure  I  would  help 
you,  even  "  — and  her  voice  was  low  and  mischiev 
ous  —  "  'if  the  years  that  shall  make  you  more  of 
a  man  shall'  "  — 

"O  hush,  Rose!  Don't  be  hard  on  a  fellow 
Christmas  Eve,  —  and  your  affairs  at  high  tide. 
I  have  always  liked  Bruce,  Rose.  I  am  mighty  glad 
it's  Bruce." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  that,  Mr.  Thprnton," 
Bruce  said  quietly,  coming  up  behind  them.  "  I 
have  always  liked  you." 

Unabashed  and  laughing,  Harold  held  out  his  hand. 

That  blessed  Christmas  Eve  !  Why  should  it  not 
have  been  a  golden  time?  Happiness,  like  a  dove, 
had  descended  upon  them ;  and  they  did  not  drive 


296  AUNT  SERENA. 

away  that  coy  and  transient  guest  with  one  forbid 
ding  look  or  mien  of  suffering  melancholy.  Deso 
late,  pitiful  hours  had  come  to  most  of  them,  as 
come  they  must.  They  had  tasted  the  dead-sea 
fruit  of  the  world's  disappointments.  They  had 
known  heavy  grinding  care  and  pale  sorrow.  Life 
with  its  burdens  was  on  them,  yet  also  life's  rap 
ture  and  glory.  And  Christmas  bade  them  take 
courage^  and  be  glad.  "Remember  us,"  warned 
the  voices  of  the  past.  "Beloved,  ye  too  are  wel 
come,"  answered  the  faithful  voices  of  to-day. 
"Absent  and  un  forgotten,  rejoice  with  us." 

And  from  Rosamond's  pure  eyes  shone  the  same 
love-light  that  had  once  transfigured  her  young  moth 
er's  face  ;  while  in  the  tender  strength  of  her  lover, 
aunt  Serena  recognized  the  power  that  had  swayed 
her  own  far-off  girlhood.  The  new  was  ever  repeat 
ing  the  old ;  and  the  vast,  subtle  forces  of  nature 
were  working  out  their  infinite  progressions.  And 
she  looked  thoughtfully  upon  the  fresh,  flower-like 
maidenhood,  the  men  in  their  goodly  strength,  and 
heard  with  thankfulness  the  light,  rippling  laughter 
of  the  children.  "  Tt  will  pass  away,"  she  mused, 
"  yet  not  in  vain  is  it  here.  If  not  for  us,  the  har 
vest  is  for  others.  '  There  shall  never  be  one  lost 
good.'  The  warmth  of  this  one  evening  reaches 
farther  than  we  know  in  ever-widening  immeasurable 
circles.  We  are  imperfect  beings,  but  we  are  very 
lovable,"  smilingly  thought  this  mild  judge  of  her 
fellow-men  ;  ' '  and  we  are  the  best  we  have  —  at 
present." 


AUNT  SERENA.  297 

Age,  serene  and  beautiful  as  summer  twilight ; 
calm,  trustful,  married  life ;  young  lovers  entering 
their  paradise  ;  young  lovers  far  from  theirs  indeed, 
yet  cheerfully,  if  with  some  unavoidable  detentions, 
on  the  way ;  and  the  sovereign  children  in  the  splen 
dor  of  their  Christmas  purple ;  while  the  indefati 
gable  music-box,  quietly  encouraged  by  Elise,  ground 
on,  like  the  salt-mill  that  forever  grinds,  and  keeps 
the  great  sea  salt,  until  it  was  silenced  to  yield  to 
Gertrude,  who  sang  as  even  she  had  never  sung 
before ;  and  the  broad,  dignified,  noble  melody  of 
Stradella's  "O  Salutaris"  soared  on,  and  met  the 
Christmas  chimes  at  midnight. 


298  AUNT  SEEENA. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"  I  will  lift  mine  eyes  unto  the  hills." 

•'  /"^AN  a  man  never  please  himself  ?  "  said  Harold, 
v_y  who  had  been  pleasing  himself  systematically 
for  twenty  years.  With  a  frown  he  turned  away,  and 
looked  far  down  the  valley.  He  was  driving  slowly 
with  aunt  Serena,  a  gray  February  day,  up  towards 
a  villa  upon  which  she  had  certain  undefined  but  per 
sistent  designs. 

"  She  misses  you,  Harold.     You  are  all  she  has." 
"  She  is  not  unhappy,"  he  said  moodily. 
"  She  has  been  very  good  to  spare  you  so  long." 
"A  man  of  my  age  cannot  be  expected  to  sit  in 
the  chimney  corner,  and  toast  his  feet." 
Aunt  Serena  smiled  imperturbably. 
"  You  have  been  here  three  months.     In  less  than 
six  we  shall  all  come  back  to  the  Nest." 

"I  see  no  reasonable  objection  to  my  waiting  for 
you.  In  fact,  it  is  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  for  me  to  do." 

' '  The  most  natural  and  reasonable  thing  is  for  you 
to  yield  to  your  mother,  and  go  at  once." 
Harold  maintained  stern  silence. 
At  length  aunt  Serena  began  again,  — 
"  May  I  speak  to  you  with  perfect  frankness?  " 


AUNT  SERENA.  299 

"Of  course.  Why  not?"  But  his  permission 
was  not  sufficiently  affable  to  be  encouraging. 

"Then  /wish  you  to  go  home.  You  will  go  to 
please  your  mother,  I  am  sure,"  she  said  tranquilly. 
"  But  I,  too,  am  anxious  to  send  you  away  for  a 
tune." 

"I  suppose  so,"  he  muttered  gloomily.  "You 
have  not  a  ray  of  confidence  in  a  man  unless  he  hap 
pens  to  be  exactly  thirty-two." 

She  turned  her  benign  face  fully  upon  him,  and 
said  with  deliberate  earnestness,  — 

"Harold,  I  found  here  a  brave  little  girl  work 
ing  away  against  heavy  odds,  with  oppressive  memo 
ries  haunting  her,  with  no  apparent  promise  in  her 
future.  I  do  not  intend,  being  at  present  personally 
responsible,  to  allow  any  undesirable  complications 
to  intrude  upon  her  present  restfulness." 

"Am  I  an  undesirable  complication?" 

"  You  might  be,"  she  answered  with  her  loveliest 
smile. 

He  deigned  to  laugh  a  little.  "  I  cannot  quarrel 
with  you,  aunt  Serena.  You  have  me  at  an  advan 
tage." 

"I  know  that  I  have,  dear.  Now  listen.  You 
have  been  silent  thus  far,  not  out  of  consideration 
for  any  of  us,  you  know,  but  simply  from  "  — 

"  Disgust  with  myself.  Nevertheless,  I  have  not 
a  fickle  nature.  In  the  face  of  facts,  I  swear  it," 
he  returned  resolutely. 

"From  motives  of  your  own,"  she  continued  in 
her  unruffled,  civil  manner,  "and  at  all  events  I 


300  AUNT  SERENA. 

approve  of  your  outward  course.  If  the  dearest  lad 
that  ever  had  patience  with  a  prosy  old  woman  will 
let  me  advise  him  now,  this  is  what  I  say.  Go  home, 
simply  because  you  ought.  What  nobler  thing  can  a 
man  do  than  his  simple  duty?  Then,  if  }Tou  stay, 
what  will  it  profit  you?  Do  you  think  she  will  listen 
to  you  now?  She  has  an  uncompromising,  honest 
pride  of  her  own  ;  and  she  is  wiser  than  her  years. 
She  will  come  with  me.  Your  mother  will  know  her 
then.  It  will  be  quite  different.  Leave  the  dear 
girl  trustfully,  with  the  friendly  hope  of  seeing  her 
again.  Leave  her  to  the  future  and  to  me.  I  deny 
you  nothing,  except  my  permission  to  be  rash  and 
inconsiderate.  I  oppose  no  tide  of  feeling  ;  and  if  I 
were  so  unwise,  youth  is  stronger  than  I.  But  I  say, 
because  I  love  you,  Harold,  and  because  I  love  her, 
wait.  Be  sure  of  yourself.  This  time  make  no  pro 
testations  (she  had  never  before  alluded  to  his  little 
romance  with  Rose).  You  have  been  a  boy.  Do 
you  hope  to  win  Gertrude?  Be  a  man." 

"  It  is  no  use.  You  would  make  a  hero  of  a  brute. 
I  will  go.  I  suppose  I  must  do  as  you  wish.  I  know 
you  are  right,  but  it  is  hard." 

"  Yes,  it  is  hard,"  she  said. 

' '  Do  you  trust  me  ? ' '  and  he  turned  squarely  upon 
her. 

"  I  trust  your  honorable  heart.  I  sometimes  dis 
trust  your  hasty,  extravagant  impulse.  I  am  sure 
that  I  shall  have  reason  later  to  trust  j^our  manly 
steadfastness." 

"You  shall  indeed ! "  he  exclaimed  honestly,  "  and 


AUNT  SERENA.  301 

1  will  go  at  once.  But  you'd  better  send  me  soon, 
while  I  am  in  a  reformed  state." 

"  The  sooner  the  better,  my  dear,"  she  replied 
with  strong  and  kind  approval. 

Harold  left  them  in  a  couple  of  days.  He  appeared 
well  in  the  parting  scene.  Aunt  Serena  was  proud 
of  him.  He  only  said  to  Gertrude,  "Then  I  shall 
surely  see  you  at  the  Nest,  Miss  Peyton,  before  the 
summer  is  gone?  Auf  Wiederselien."  If  his  strong 
blue  eyes  flashed  one  word  more  into  hers,  if  his 
hand-pressure  was  longer  than  strict  ceremony  re 
quired,  aunt  Serena  did  not  blame  him,  nor  did  Ger 
trude.  Baldur  the  Beautiful  is  gone,  she  said  to 
herself  many  times  that  day,  missing  his  sunshiny 
presence,  and  his  friendly  care  of  her.  But  she  knew 
that  his  warm  welcome  would  gladden  her  on  those 
other  shores,  and  she  trusted  aunt  Serena.  Gertrude 
was  of  a  faithful  and  grateful  nature,  and  he  had 
been  good  to  her.  She  loved  sunshine,  and  a  little 
went  with  the  fair-haired  bonny  lad.  So  she  remem 
bered  him  in  her  quiet,  patient  heart. 

There  were  many  reasons  why  aunt  Serena,  at 
this  time,  wished  to  leave  the  pension.  One  excel 
lent  one  was  that  they  were  tired  of  it.  At  best,  it 
lacked  the  freedom  and  peace  of  home.  There 
were  too  many  incongruous  elements.  As  a  tern- 
porai'y  thing,  it  was  very  well,  and  had  no  doubt 
served  its  useful  disciplinary  purposes.  But  the 
experiment  had  been  tried.  There  seemed  to  be 
nothing  more  to  be  learned  from  it.  Indeed,  certain 
experiences  grew  with  each  repetition  less  endurable. 


302  AUNT  SERENA. 

Since  the  announcement  of  Rose's  engagement, 
Mrs.  Vivien  had  been,  what  most  women  would 
have  unhesitatingly  called,  intrusive  and  odious  in 
the  extreme.  Aunt  Serena's  severest  epithet  was 
"  incomprehensible."  Rose  began  to  shrink  in 
stinctively  from  her  next-door  neighbor's  visits. 
Mrs.  Vivien  said  nothing,  which,  narrated  or  com 
plained  of,  would  have  seemed  to  have  sufficient 
weight  to  lie  heavily  upon  any  one's  spirits.  But 
her  chatter  was  depressing  to  Rose.  It  is  easy  for 
a  generous  girl  to  look  in  her  lover's  face,  and  think, 
What  do  I  care  for  his  past !  I  love  it,  since  it  has 
led  him  step  by  step  to  me,  and  thus,  with  one 
grand  gesture,  wave  it  out  of  her  remembrance. 
But  it  is  not  easy  for  her  when  she  finds  that  others 
are  free  to  discuss  her  hero's  human  weaknesses ; 
that  her  noble  reticence  does  not  silence  other 
lips  ;  that  her  judgment  of  him  goes  for  nothing ; 
and  that  the  very  nature  of  her  position  renders  her 
helpless  to  defend  him  from  shallow,  ignoble  critics. 

Mrs.  Vivien  was  an  adept  in  giving  small  stabs. 
Rose  had  received  some  of  which  aunt  Serena  was 
unaware.  Once  or  twice  Mrs.  Vivien  had  "run 
in ' '  when  Miss  Lennox  was  out  and  Rose  was 
alone,  "to  be  neighborly,"  the  little  woman  said. 
Perhaps  another  girl  would  have  shrunk  with  less 
horror  from  minute  details  of  her  lover's  experi 
ences,  and  from  iununendoes  more  expressive  than 
words.  It  may  be  that  another  girl  would  have 
ventured  to  jest  with  him  about  them,  and  so  quiet 
any  vague  restlessness  they  might  have  caused  her. 


AUNT  SERENA.  303 

But  Rose  could  not ;  nor  could  she  bring  malicious, 
petty  stories  of  his  life  into  his  noble  presence. 
She  did  not  believe  one  of  them ;  and  none  of  them, 
indeed,  merited  belief.  Some  were  the  interpreta 
tion  of  a  base  mind ;  some  were  the  creations  of 
malice.  Nevertheless,  they  distressed  her.  Her 
proud,  pure  nature  recoiled  from  hearing  even  his 
name  used  carelessly  as  a  common  thing.  She  was 
not  curious,  and  her  trust  in  him  was  unspeakable. 
Yet  sometimes  she  would  look  at  him  with  t,  deep 
wistfulness  he  could  not  fathom. 

"  What  is  it,  my  little  Rose?  " 

"I  wish  I  were  older,"  she  would  say.  "Are 
you  sure  I  am  old  enough  for  you?  I  am  so  igno 
rant  of  life.  If  I  were  older  I  should  understand 
many  things  better." 

Then  he  would  comfort  her  with  a  lover's  fond 
assurances,  and  she  would  forget  her  fears.  Yet 
against  her  will,  in  some  inexplicable  way,  the  fif 
teen  years'  difference  in  their  ages  grew  in  her  child 
ish  fancy  like  a  chasm  between  them,  over  which 
even  her  love  could  throw  no  bridge.  Mrs.  Vivien 
had  succeeded  simply  in  making  her  depressed,  — 
doubtful  of  herself.  "  I  will  be  all  I  may  to  him," 
she  would  say  fervently.  "I  will  learn  to  be 
more." 

Unreserved  in  all  else  to  aunt  Serena,  she  was 
reticent  with  regard  to  her  lover.  What  she  felt, 
iudeed,  she  could  not  have  expressed  hi  words. 
The  lesson  of  her  own  insufficiency  had  been  taught 
her  with  such  gradual  insinuations,  she  could  hardly 


304  AUNT  SERENA 

have  told  how  she  had  learned  it.  Ambiguous  sug 
gestions  of  a  complex  society  life,  which  she  had 
never  known  ;  pretty  enthusiasms  about  the  tran 
scendent  perfection  of  women  of  the  great  world, 
who  had  enthralled  her  lover  when  she  was  still 
playing  with  dolls  ;  enlightenment  as  to  the  grand 
passion  a  man  feels  once,  and  never  again,  the  mad 
infatuation  being,  as  a  rule,  followed  by  weariness, 
and  afterwards  by  an  amiable  toleration  of  some 
gentle  being,  upon  whom  he  deigns  to  bestow  what 
ever  feeble  warmth  remains  in  the  ashes  of  his 
burnt-out  affections, — all  this  and  more,  in  Mrs. 
Vivien's  delicate  and  playful  rendering,  the  inex 
perienced  child  could  neither  openly  resent,  nor  yet 
quite  forget.  She  was  too  far  from  this  other 
world  to  be  able  to  judge  it  clearly ;  and  the  rumors 
that  floated  to  her  from  it  perplexed  her,  because  of 
the  atmosphere  of  mystery  which  enveloped  them. 
Had  there  been  any  thing  for  her  active  spirit  to  do, 
any  thing  to  fairly  meet,  to  refute,  she  would  have 
suffered  less.  But  these  attenuated,  poisonous  dilu 
tions  instilled  a  slow  pain  in  her  young  heart.  Pride 
forbade  her  to  complain  of  it.  She  scorned  it, 
struggled  with  it ;  but  its  dull  throb  was  hard  to 
bear. 

Strictly  speaking,  it  was  perhaps  an  infinitesimal 
wavering  cloud  of  jealousy  which  occasioned  her 
mute  distress.  Yet  it  would  seem  that  a  word  less 
severe,  and  less  suggestive  of  ignoble  emotion, 
ought  to  be  chosen  to  depict  the  uneasiness  that 
overhung  this  loyal,  tender  child's  untried  spirit,  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  305 

increasing  self-distrust,  the  consciousness  of  those 
fifteen  fatal  years  of  mysterious  experience  and 
untold  wisdom  that  lay  between  him  and  her. 
Sometimes  she  would  suddenly  grow  shy,  not  dar 
ing  to  disclose  to  him  her  eager  fancies.  If  perfect 
love  caste th  out  fear,  Rose's  was  by  no  means  per 
fect  ;  but  it  was  perhaps  sufficiently  near  perfection 
for  any  mortal  man  to  win. 

The  timid  homage  which  she  offered  him,  the 
tremulous  stir  in  her  face  of  half-understood  emo 
tion,  the  rapture  of  her  welcome,  when  all  her  youth 
in  its  glad,  pure  strength  looked  out  of  her  lovely 
eyes,  and  the  fine  reserve  of  her  dawning  womanli 
ness  guarded  the  door  of  her  lips,  made  her  to  Bruce 
a  perfect  pearl  of  girlhood.  He  found  in  her  all  that 
he  could  desire.  The  childlike  element  in  her  he 
loved  as  something  sacred.  He  was  charmed  with 
her  simplicity,  her  appreciation  and  sympathy  when 
ever  he  spoke  earnestly  with  her  of  his  plans. 
Already  she  had  unconsciously  inspired  him  with 
more  active  and  larger  aims.  He  did  not  talk  much 
of  his  past,  for  the  simple  reason  that  he  was  apt 
to  forget  it  in  her  presence.  It  seemed  worthless  to 
him,  compared  with  the  rich  and  satisfying  future 
opeuJng  before  them.  He  had,  indeed,  no  espe 
cial  mysteries  or  crimes  on  his  conscience  ;  but,  had 
he  known  the  delicate  tissues  of  perplexity  which 
malice  was  weaving  about  her,  he  would  have  un 
hesitatingly  laid  before  her  all  of  his  life  that  it  was 
titting  for  her  young  eyes  to  gaze  upon. 

Meanwhile   aunt   Serena  was  fully  persuaded  it 


306  AUNT  SERENA. 

was  time  to  leave  the  pension.  She  had  her  good 
and  sufficient  reasons.  If  she  and  Gertrude  did  not 
know  absolute!}7  all  causes  why  Rosamond's  bright 
happiness  was  now  and  then  dimmed  by  intangible 
clouds,  their  loving  intuition  perceived  much.  This 
was  not  a  family  where  everybody's  emotions  are 
arraigned  each  day  before  a  council  of  ten  or  three. 
' '  I  prefer  the  ah1  on  the  hills  now  that  spring  is 
coming,"  aunt  Serena  announced  quite  generally. 
Frau  Rudolph's  chuckle  was  less  audible  and  fre 
quent  in  those  days  when  the  departure  was  under 
open  consideration.  Indeed,  Molly  and  Daisy, 
whose  round  eyes  usually  saw  all  that  there  was  to 
be  seen,  repeated  that  she  had  mixed  her  black 
coffee  with  a  few  rare  tears  the  afternoon  that  aunt 
Serena  and  the  two  young  girls  finally  drove  away 
from  her  door.  Be  that  as  it  may,  —  an  actual,  if 
surprising  fact,  or  a  mere  extravagance  of  the  youth 
ful  and  reduplicated  imagination  of  the  twins,  — the 
exceUent  woman,  true  to  her  principles  of  always 
being  ready  to  recognize  the  mobile  character  of  her 
flock,  cheerily  supported  aunt  Serena  in  the  execu 
tion  of  her  plans  ;  was  even,  with  Mr.  Raymond,  in 
strumental  in  securing  a  short  lease  of  the  coveted 
villa ;  and  at  the  parting  moment  bravely  stood  her 
ground  with  the  same  "  They-come-and-they-go " 
smile  with  which  she  had  greeted  them  as  perfect 
strangers.  That  was  what  she  deemed  upholding 
the  dignity  of  her  calling.  But  if  she  afterwards 
retired  to  her  small  room,  and  locked  the  door,  let 
us  not  intrude  with  prying  eyes  upon  her  brief  but 


AUNT  SERENA.  307 

voluntary  seclusion  from  the  world,  nor  seek  to  lay 
bare  the  jealously  guarded  motives  which  led  her 
to  send  odd  and  dainty  little  baskets  of  sweetmeats 
up  to  the  villa  on  the  hill,  and,  after  her  busy  day 
was  done,  not  unfrequently  to  toil  up  the  warm, 
kng  slope  which  led  to  it,  and  the  kind  welcome 
which  always  awaited  her  in  its  cool  garden.  She 
never  divulged  her  private  views  upon  this  subject. 
Let  us  respect  her  dignified  reticence.  Not  every 
woman,  we  are  told,  can  keep  a  secret. 

It  was  in  March  when  they  moved  up  to  the  villa. 
This  was  not  merely  a  villa  on  a  hill,  but  a  villa  at 
the  glorious  crown  of  a  succession  of  noble  hills, 
waving  up  in  long,  gentle  undulations  to  the  lovely, 
lofty  spot  where  it  stood.  Five  forest-roads  met 
and  crossed  before  its  door,  and  witches  must  have 
held  high  carnival  there  in  the  merry  old  witch-days. 
Indeed,  what  with  the  wind  and  the  gloom,  and 
the  magic  of  some  nights,  it  was  easy  to  suspect 
them  of  still  haunting  those  mystic  precincts.  One 
broad,  fine  carriage-road  wound,  with  easy  turnings, 
up  from  the  city.  Two  roads  came  more  abruptly 
up,  and  were  climbed  by  good  walkers,  sometimes 
by  carts.  One  swept  with  a  long  curve  round  a 
droll  little  village  and  a  tiny  lake.  One  led  straight 
into  the  woods,  and  ran  into  a  labyrinth  of  lovely 
wood-roads,  broad  and  narrow,  level  and  steep, 
always  enchanting. 

The  villa,  —  built  by  a  Polish  gentleman,  from 
caprice,  abandoned  from  the  same  dominant  prin 
ciple  of  all  his  actions,  —  although  perched  as  high 


308  AUNT  SERENA. 

as  an  eagle's  eyry,  was  yet  in  itself  a  quiet, 
like  little  house,  resting  with  its  gardens  in  what 
Rose  called  a  dimple  in  the  face  of  the  hill.  Before 
it  stood  with  singular  effect  seven  giant  poplar-trees. 
These  were  most  impressive  in  their  extraordinary 
height,  and  as  conspicuous  in  their  loneliness  as  the 
"Three  Sisters"  of  the  Roman  Forum.  Visible 
from  a  point  far  down  the  valley,  always  looming 
up  in  their  vivid  and  solemn  loftiness,  whatever  else 
was  concealed  by  the  wooded  windings  of  the  road, 
their  mystic  number  increased  their  subtle  charm  ; 
and  the  perpetual,  mysterious  flutter  of  their  delicate 
leaves  far  up  on  that  breezy  height  whispered  un 
speakable  things  to  hearts  that  loved  to  listen. 

"We  cannot  pronounce  'Tarnorowowski,'  or 
whatever  it  may  be,  with  the  slightest  hope  of  suc 
cess,"  said  aunt  Serena  one  day.  "We  must  re- 
christen  the  villa  for  our  own  temporary  use." 

"Why  not  call  it  'Seven  Poplars?'  That  is 
simple,  and  we  can  pronounce  it  in  the  few  lan 
guages  of  which  we  know  any  thing,"  suggested 
Rose,  listening  to  the  innumerable  voices  of  their 
leaves.  Standing  near  them,  she  turned  away  from 
gazing  at  Wynburg  and  the  plain  beyond  and  the 
distant  mountain-range ;  and  as  she  looked  in  hei 
lover's  eyes,  her  cares  sank  down  into  the  valley. 


AUNT  SEEENA.  309 


CHAPTER   XX. 

"Fair?  yes,  yes  1  the  rippled  shadow 

Of  that  midnight  hair 
Shows  above  her  brow  —  as  clouds  do 
O'er  the  moon  —  most  fair. 

Shaming  truth  with  truthful  seeming; 
While  her  laugh,  light,  low, 

And  her  subtle  mouth  that  murmurs, 
And  her  silken  cheek, 

And  her  eyes,  say  that  she  dissembles, 
Plain  as  speech  could  speak." 
EDWIN  AKNOLD:  The  Indian  Song  of  Songs. 

T~  IFE  on  the  heights  suited  them  all.  Aunt  Se- 
-*— J  rena  was  again  in  a  natural  position,  directing 
her  little  household,  dispensing  hospitalities,  and 
working  daily  in  her  garden,  with  a  gentle  joy  in 
every  growing  leaf.  Gertrude,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  childhood,  was  at  home.  Rosamond 
dreamed  her  happy  girlish  dreams  in  which  Bruce 
was  by  turns  every  hero  of  every  high  romance, 
only  somewhat  nobler  than  all.  The  Seven  Poplars 
looked  down  upon  an  ideal  life.  They  heard  long, 
friendly,  earnest  talks.  Much  light  laughter  floated 
about  their  sombre  stateliness,  and  sometimes  a  whis 
per  beneath  them  would  make  a  maiden's  heart  aa 
tremulous  as  their  own  sensitive  foliage. 


310  AUNT  SEEENA. 

Spring  was  working  its  quiet  will  on  sunny  hill- 
slopes  and  in  dark  forest-depths.  Every  day  new 
glories  disclosed  themselves.  The  woods  near  by 
were  of  rare  beauty,  soft  and  clear  and  mossy  under 
foot,  magnificently  high,  tempting  one  ever  on  and 
on  through  their  vast  arches. 

Up  through  the  shady  road  and  round  a  sharp 
corner,  there  was  a  grove  of  great,  murmuring  pines. 
Off  in  another  direction,  a  narrow  way  —  a  perfect 
lovers'  path,  wide  enough  for  two  horses  abreast  — 
led  them  under  a  rich  growth  of  soft  acacias  which 
met  overhead.  Here  they  often  rode  in  fragrant 
May  twilights. 

They  searched  the  woods  for  its  treasures.  They 
learned  its  trees,  most  of  them  indeed  stanch  old 
friends.  They  met  the  wild  forget-me-nots  and 
lilies-of-the-valley  as  they  came.  Aunt  Serena  said 
one  day  "that  she  thought,  even  at  the  Nest  the 
birds  had  never  sounded  so  marvellously  sweet." 

"  Germans  are  very  musical,"  Rose  replied  so 
berly.  "  These  birds  may  have  more  musical  tradi 
tions  and  more  science ;  but  the  birds  at  the  Nest 
have  great  natural  talent." 

"There  are  no  nightingales  there,"  said  aunt 
Serena  with  soft  regret. 

Again  they  were  telling  Gertrude  and  Bruce  how 
the  Nest  looked. 

"  I  can't  imagine  any  thing  prettier  than  this," 
Gertrude  had  said. 

"  It  may  not  be  prettier,  —  except  to  us,"  aunt 
Serena  gently  explained. 


AUNT  SERENA.  311 

"  It  is  quite  different, "  said  Rose.  "  Here  we  are 
as  high  as  a  robber  knight's  castle,  and  not  much 
more  retired,  although  that  wild  white-rose  hedge  is 
some  protection,"  she  laughingly  admitted;  "and 
there  the  great  oaks  shut  us  in  away  from  the  whole 
world." 

"  Then,  I  shall  prefer  the  Nest,"  Bruce  said, 
smiling. 

"  This  has  a  broader  landscape.  This  is  more 
airy,"  reflected  aunt  Serena,  wishing  to  be  quite 
Impartial. 

"  Ah,  but  we  have  the  sea  !  "  Rose  exclaimed. 

"  And  the  Nest  is  —  home,"  aunt  Serena  said. 

"  And  Aloha  stands  in  his  stall,  and  looks  over 
his  shoulder  for  his  mistress,"  Bruce  suggested. 

"  Not  always,"  Rose  said  practically.  "  Old 
John  is  faithful.  He  exercises  him  properly,  I  am 
sure.  But  he  will  know  me.  You  will  all  see." 

Still,  in  spite  of  their  loyalty  to  the  Nest,  they 
grew  strongly  attached  to  their  little  home  on  the 
hill-top  ;  and  they  made  it  charming  for  their  Wyn- 
burg  friends.  Bruce  sent  up,  for  Rose's  pleasure, 
a  Hermes  like  his  sister's.  They  placed  him  in  the 
garden,  facing  the  poplars. 

"The  god  of  travellers,"  said  Bruce,  "shall 
guard  all  wayfarers  who  pass  by  these  intersecting 
roads." 

"  All  the  funny  peasants  tramping  by,  and  the 
cattle  and  the  dogs,  and  the  soldiers  going  to  and 
from  the  parade-ground,  and  gay  students  singing 
their  loud,  late  songs,  and  Lieut,  von  Falkenstein, 


312  AUNT  SERENA. 

his  brother  officers  and  our  own'  friends,  and  the 
court-people,  and  the  postilions  with  their  horns, 
and  even  their  majesties,  —  it  is  a  goodly  company," 
said  Rose,  greatly  pleased;  "and  we,  we  are  trav 
ellers  too.  Dear  Hermes,  bless  them  all  —  and  us." 

June  came  with  her  roses,  and  Rose  was  glad  at 
heart.  She  was  going  to  be  eighteen.  Her  un 
easy  wonderings  had  been  blown  away  by  the  pure 
hill-breezes ;  and  then,  Mrs.  Vivien,  though  she 
came  often  enough,  could  not  exactly  run  in  with 
impunity,  bringing  her  gray  stocking  and  many- 
colored  reminiscences.  The  little  lady,  too,  like 
every  thing  in  nature,  moved  with  a  sort  of  rhythm, 
even  in  her  naughtiness.  It  had  its  ascending  and 
descending  cadences.  Malice,  like  love  and  joy, 
has  a  tide.  Hers,  at  this  moment,  was  apparently 
at  low  ebb.  But  Rosamond  still  wished  to  be  older, 
though  forgetful  of  the  course  of  reasoning  that  had 
led  her  to  this  conclusion.  She  confided  to  Ger 
trude,  with  a  solemnly  childlike  air,  that  she  thought, 
after  she  was  eighteen,  she  might  dare  to  call  Mr. 
Bruce  Sydney ;  which,  curiously  enough,  she  had 
never  yet  done. 

She  was  very  lovely  in  her  special  manner  to 
Bruce.  As  he  himself  had  foreseen,  it  proved  to  be 
quite  different  from  her  cousinly  treatment  of  Har 
old.  Ingenuous,  sufficiently,  often  playfully,  familiar 
in  her  speech,  yet  always  with  a  certain  delicate 
reserve  and  deference  in  her  way  of  approaching 
him.  She  could  not  regard  her  lover,  in  the  emi 
nently  practical  manner  of  certain  young  women,  aa 


AUNT  SEEENA.  313 

a  useful  arid  creditable  object  to  have  on  baud  and 
exhibit,  tolerably  interesting  as  a  novelty,  but  upon 
the  whole  falling  far  short  of  the  last  new  thing  in 
parasols.  There  was  much  that  she  intended  to  do 
after  she  was  eighteen.  She  had  as  many  plans  as 
a  prime  minister ;  but  they  all  related  to  one  com 
prehensive  subject,  —  her  own  intellectual  develop 
ment,  to  render  herself  more  worthy  of  Bruce,  who 
on  his  side  regarded  her  as  the  fairest  thing  in 
mortal  eyes. 

It  is  the  evening  before  Rosamond's  birthday. 
Hermes  has  four  blood- red  roses  given  him,  with 
a  kiss  in  the  heart  of  each.  —  The  mythological 
dictionary  had  instructed  Rose  that  four  was  the 
number  sacred  to  the  god,  but  it  had  said  nothing 
whatever  about  kisses.  —  There  is  a  strong  breeze 
sweeping  through  the  poplars,  and  bending  the  tree- 
tops  in  the  woods  over  the  way,  and  blowing  the 
sweetness  of  the  rose-garden  out  into  the  wide  world. 
Rosamond,  Gertrude,  and  Bruce  stand  at  the  open 
casement,  smiling  in  upon  aunt  Serena.  Her  silvery 
hair  glistens  above  her  placid  face  and  closed,  calm 
eyelids  ;  and  the  rich  red  wine  in  a  curious  antique 
glass  on  the  table  by  her  side  glows  like  flame  in  the 
long,  last  rays  of  the  western  sunshine. 

The  good  old  lady  thinks  that  she  is  reading,  but 
her  head  nods  and  her  book  bobs.  The  evening 
breeze  blows  at  will  through  the  pleasant  summer- 
room,  inspiring  even  the  sedate  faded  Tarnorowow- 
ski  portilres  with  a  wild  longing  for  adventure.  It 
fills  them  grandly,  blows  them  straight  out  high  and 


314  AUNT  SEEENA. 

bold,  holds  them  motionless  an  instant  in  un 
dreamed-of  loftiness,  till  they  sink  back,  trailing 
their  soft,  dull,  silken  folds  on  the  polished  floor, 
rustling  still  with  excitement,  and  gently  whispering 
about  it  among  themselves,  till  the  strong,  bold 
breeze  comes  again. 

But  aunt  Serena  pays  no  heed  to  the  supernatural 
sprightliness  of  the  curtains,  and  is  not  aware  (,f  the 
liberties  that  South-west  Wind,  Esq.,  is  taking  with 
the  ribbons  of  her  cap.  She  leans  back  in  a  com 
fortable  arm-chair.  She  holds  an  interesting  volume 
bravely  erect.  If  the  eyelids  droop  over  the  kind 
brown  eyes,  and  the  head  and  the  book  make  eccen 
tric  lurches  now  and  then,  who  shall  venture  to 
affirm  that  the  little  old  lady  is  not  in  reality  read 
ing?  What  with  the  changing  sunset-lights,  and 
the  shadows  beginning  to  gather  in  the  corners,  it  is 
a  thing  about  which  one  need  not  be  unpleasantly 
positive.  Aunt  Serena  thinks  that  she  is  reading, 
and  likes  her  friends  to  think  so.  Is  this  a  weak 
ness?  Ask  them,  smiling  at  the  window.  They 
would  tell  you  it  is  a  lovely  human  trait,  —  another 
charm. 

And  knowing  the  dear  soul,  — her  gracious  ways  ; 
her  loving  kindness  ;  her  gentle  witticisms  ;  her  most 
enchanting,  fairy-godmother  surprises  ;  her  penetra 
tion  and  blind  credulity  ;  her  shrewdness,  and  utter 
ignorance  of  the  world ;  the  tiny  glass  of  Greek 
wine  which  it  is  her  almost  unvarying  habit  to  offer 
to  every  guest,  even  upon  her  very  threshold ;  her 
tender  solicitude  about  the  most  uninteresting  peo- 


AUNT  SERENA.  315 

pie's  aches  and  pains  and  love-troubles ;  her  old- 
fashioned  grace  ;  her  frail,  helpful  hands  ;  her  smile, 
—  yes,  her  smile  alone,  —  one  can  easily  at  her  bid 
ding  believe  sleeping  is  waking,  and  night,  day. 

Except  for  occasional  book-bobbings  and  head- 
noddings,  she  sits  motionless.  The  shadows  in  the 
corners  grow  deeper.  The  fiery  glow  fades  away 
from  the  wine.  But  still  the  curtains  hold  high 
carnival,  and  pleasant  odors  steal  in  from  the  rose- 
garden  and  the  fresh  woods  and  fragrant  fields. 

The  three  advance  on  tiptoe.  Aunt  Serena  opens 
her  eyes. 

"Dear  little  auntie,"  says  Rose's  rich,  joyous 
voice,  "  you  will  be  blown  away  like  the  witches  that 
used  to  fly  over  these  cross-roads.  The  curtains  are 
trying  to  stand  on  their  heads,  and  in  the  garden 
even  the  mignonette  is  excited." 

"Pray  do  not  move,  Madame  Serena,"  Bruce 
adds  quickly :  ' '  you  look  like  a  saint,  against  the 
pale  gold  of  the  dying  sunset." 

"Please  remain  quite  as  you  are,"  begged  Ger 
trude. 

"Really,  children!"  expostulated  aunt  Serena, 
smiling. 

"  St.  Serena,"  Rosamond  began  in  an  impressive 
voice,  with  an  important  wave  of  the  hand.  "  Em 
blem,  glass  of  Greek  wine.  Time,  nineteenth  cen 
tury  ;  quite  as  good  a  century  as  any  other,  and 
quite  as  much  room  for  saiutship,  although  popular 
superstition  holds  the  contrary  opinion.  This  saint 
never  thought  any  thing  about  herself  at  all.  She 


316  AUNT  SERENA. 

had  no  time  to  stand  in  a  niche.  She  would  have 
been  too  busy  to  stay  there.  She  wore  rather  rich 
and  costly  garments." 

"  Child  !  "  remonstrated  aunt  Serena,  with  a  som2- 
what  deprecating  look  at  her  dress. 

"Like  St.  Edith  of  "Wilton,"  Rose  continued, 
much  encouraged  by  applause  from  the  window ; 
"who  remarked,  when  rebuked  by  St.  Ethelwold 
for  her  good  clothes,  '  God  regardeth  the  heart  alone, 
and  can  read  beneath  any  garment.  For  pride,' 
she  said,  '  can  exist  under  the  garb  of  wretchedness  ; 
and  a  mind  may  be  pure  under  these  rich  vestments, 
as  under  your  tattered  furs.'  St.  Serena,  then, 
liked  black  silks  of  excellent  quality,"  — 

"But  they  wear  better,  dear,"  said  a  mild 
voice. 

"And  old  lace,  and  very  becoming  caps.  She 
loved  the  whole  world,  and  was  patient  even  with 
Pension  Rudolph.  She  fed  the  hungry,  healed  the 
sick,  was  imposed  upon  by  the  poor,  encouraged 
the  lazy,  believed  most  atrocious  fibbers,  and  needed 
no  hair-shirt  or  other  penance  for  her  soul's  grace, 
because  she  had  brought  up  from  early  infancy 
Rosamond  Wellesley ;  and  that  was  deemed  disci 
pline  enough  for  one  earthly  pilgrimage." 

"Canonized,"  began  Gertrude,  "not  in  the 
world's  regular  lists,  but  in  "  — 

"Three  irregular  hearts,"  Bruce  concluded. 

"Interesting  in  the  extreme,  my  dears,  but  un- 
au'Jieutic,  being  too  strongly  colored  by  narrow, 
individual  views,"  commented  aunt  Serena,  with 


AUNT  SERENA.  317 

a  good  grace,  finding  escape  impossible.  Now,  Mr. 
Lathrop  is  what  I  call  a  saint." 

"Oh!"  exclaimed  Rose.  "A  thousand  years 
ago  he  would  have  lived  in  a  cave,  and  subsisted  on 
roots,  prayers,  and  flagellations.  And  you  would 
have  been  quietly  watching  ;  and  just  at  the  moment 
when  his  exhausted  condition  was  in  extremis,  you 
would  have  appeared  with  a  bowl  of  nutritious  soup 
in  one  hand,  and  a  glass  of  Greek  wine  in  the  other  : 
and  no  one  would  have  been  the  wiser.  And  then 
walking  home  in  a  burning  sun,  with  a  bad  head 
ache  you  would  have  stopped  by  the  way  to 
extract  the  gravel  from  a  dog's  foot,  and  to  pick 
up  all  the  bruised  children,  and  comfort  them,  and 
wash  their  faces ;  and  it's  a  matter  of  opinion  — 
but ' '  —  she  hesitated. 

"But  we  happen  to  like  Abou  Ben  Adhem,  and 
all  his  kind,"  said  Sydney.  "Madame  Serena,  I 
came  in  to  tell  you  that  I  must  go  down  early  to 
night.  I  promised  Florence.  Can  I  be  of  any  ser 
vice  for  to-morrow  ?  ' ' 

"Thanks.  There  is  nothing  more,  I  believe,  ex 
cept  to  help  us  decide  that  little  matter  of  the  invi 
tation  to  Mrs.  Vivien." 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  want  her !  "  exclaimed  Rose. 

Gertrude  was  silent. 

Bruce  said,  "But  I  cannot  venture  to  advise  as 
to  guests  in  your  own  house.  If  it  were  mine,  I 
should  have  an  opinion,  and  express  it  without  delay. 

Aunt  Serena  smiled  appreciatively  at  him,,  then 
said,  — 


318  AUNT  SERENA. 

"It  is  such  a  trifling  thing,  after  all,  —  one  invi 
tation  more  or  less.  It  seemed  to  me  advisable  to 
make  it  an  informal  affair  :  and  as  it  is  to  be  a  gar 
den-party,  and  the  children  from  the  house  are 
coming,  and  even  Mrs.  Lancaster,  I  think  I  would 
ask  Mrs.  Vivien ;  she  might  otherwise  feel  disap 
pointed. 

"But  it  is  my  birthday,"  sighed  Eose.  "I  can 
be  disappointed  too." 

"  She  has  sent  you  flowers  several  times,  you 
know,"  urged  aunt  Serena.  "  Would  you  not  ratLer 
have  her  this  once?  With  so  many  others,  what 
does  it  matter  to  you?  It  would  be  kind  to  invite 
them  all,  because  it  is  your  birthday.  The  courtesy 
comes  from  you." 

"I  will  do  it,  aunt  Serena,"  replied  Rose  with 
dignity.  "  It  will  be  more  mature  than  to  want  only 
people  whom  I  can  tolerate.  By  all  means  let  us  ask 
Mrs.  Vivien." 

"Then  write  the  note,  dear;  and  Sydney  will 
kindly  send  it  up  to  Frau  Rudolph's." 

Gertrude  was  still  silent.  She  had  been  down  in 
the  city  that  day,  and  had  heard  at  the  Conserva 
tory  the  morning  news  of  Wynburg.  But  she  nevei 
brought  it  up  to  the  Seven  Poplars. 

The  happy  morning  dawned.  Rosamond  was 
eighteen.  She  must  have  retained  in  her  composi 
tion  much  of  the  primeval  savage.  Four  walls  could 
never  contain  her  in  moments  of  joy  or  sorrow.  She 
sought  sympathy  and  comfort  in  the  free  ah-.  She 
ran  out  early  into  the  garden,  and  told  Hermes.  He 


AUNT  SERENA.  319 

looked  as  if  he  knew  it  already  ;  so  did  the  poplars  : 
but  her  sisters,  the  roses,  glowed  with  surpi-ise.  She 
gazed  down  upon  pleasant  "VVynburg,  and  the  misty 
mountains  fur  away,  and  the  uncertain  lights  flitting 
over  the  outstretched  valley  ;  and,  with  her  arm  flung 
around  the  tallest  of  the  poplars,  she  tried  to  realize 
her  happiness.  Chosen  by  him,  loved  by  him  ;  and 
only  one  little  year  since  aunt  Harriet  had  judged 
her  and  found  her  wanting,  according  to  the  Bea- 
conswold  standard.  "  Poor  aunt  Harriet !  I  will  be 
more  patient  now.  I  will  try  to  please  her.  I  will 
sit  in  the  Den,  and  sew.  Nothing  that  she  can  say 
will  hurt  me  now  ;  no  one  can  hurt  me,  —  not  even 
Mrs.  Vivien.  Aunt  Harriet  will  be  satisfied  when 
she  sees  how  much  more  dignified  I  have  become. 
She  will  admire  my  repose  :  sometimes  I  am  sure  it 
is  almost  Beaconswoldian,  only  it  is  apt  to  be  evan 
escent.  She  cannot  help  liking  Sydney,  and  she 
cannot  frighten  him.  Ah,  yes  :  this  year  I  shall 
grow  to  be  very  mature."  And  giving  the  gratified 
poplar  a  girlish  hug,  with  many  light  bounds  and 
springs  she  danced  toward  the  porch  to  greet  aunt 
Serena. 

Soon  after  breakfast  came  a  note  for  Miss  Welles- 
ley.  Gertrude  eyed  it  with  distrust. 

Rose  read  it  gravely,  and  passed  it  silently  to  her 
aunt,  who  also  read  it,  then  gave  it  to  Ger 
trude. 

"I  will  answer  this,  dear.  Mrs.  Vivien  should 
hardly  permit  herself  so  much  liberty,"  aunt  Serena 
said  with  great  gentleness.  "I  shall  tell  her  our 


320  AUNT  SEEENA. 

little  garden-party  is  too  informal  for  us  to  be  able 
to  avail  ourselves  of  her  suggestion." 

Gertrude  read  again,  with  every  satirical  curve  of 
her  lips  in  full  play,  — 

"I  am  so  pleased  at  the  delightful  opportunity  I  shall 
have  to  present  to  you  my  cousin  Eleanor,  —  an  old  friend, 
hy  the  way,  of  the  irresistible  Mr.  Bruce,  —  who  is  passing 
a  few  days  with  me  on  her  way  to  join  a  party  in  the  Tyrol. 
I  have  told  her  so  much  of  all  my  Wynburg  friends,  among 
the  dearest  of  whom  I  claim  my  charming  companions  of 
the  winter,  that  she  is  perfectly  wild  to  see  you.  "VVe  will, 
with  your  kind  permission,  come  quite  early  to  enjoy  all  we 
can  of  you  and  your  beautiful  home.  Believe  me,  my  dear 
Miss  Wellesley,  with  a  thousand  thanks  for  your  affection 
ate  remembrance  of  me  in  yoxir  birthday  joy,  wishing  you 
many  happy  returns,  and  with  my  love  to  dear  Miss  Lennox 
and  sweet  Miss  Peyton, 

"  Your  most  devoted  and  attached  friend, 

"ALICE  VIVIEN." 

Then  she  said,  "It  is  very  bold.  She  thinks 
you  cannot  save  yourselves.  But  you  will  not  allow 
this?" 

"  Certainly  not,"  aunt  Serena  replied.  "If  for 
no  other  reason,  I  have  reason  to  believe  it  would  be 
disagreeable  to  Mrs.  Raymond.  I  must  send  some 
one  down." 

Neither  of  them  looked  at  Rose,  who  had  not  yet 
spoken. 

At  length  she  said  quietly,  — 

"  I  would  prefer  to  allow  Mrs.  Vivien  to  bring  her 
friend,  if  you  have  no  serious  objection.  Let  them 
come." 


AUNT  SERENA.  321 

"  It  does  not  really  seem  desirable,  Rose." 

Miss  Lennox's  smile  was  a  little  troubled. 

"  Dear  aunt  Serena,  yesterday  I  yielded  my  wish. 
We  have  invited  Mrs.  Vivien.  To-day  let  us  accept 
the  consequences.  I  accept  them."  She  spoke 
with  composure  and  decision. 

Not  wishing  to  seem  to  attach  too  much  impor 
tance  to  the  matter,  her  aunt  said,  "As  you  wish, 
dear  child.  The  consequences,  at  all  events,  will 
probably  be  trifling." 

Rose,  as  she  left  the  room,  was  drawing  quick 
little  breaths,  and  thinking  eagerly,  — 

"  She  shall  come.  I  fear  no  one,  and  no  one 
shall  dare  think  that  I  am  afraid.  Now  I  shall  see 
this  wonder  of  the  world." 

Aunt  Serena  looked  at  Gertrude,  and  shook  her 
head.  "I  do  not  like  it,"  she  said  frankly.  "It 
is  too  dramatic  for  us." 

"  And  Mr.  Bruce  will  be  exceedingly  displeased." 

"  But  he  will  be  a  great  help.  Dear  Sydney  will 
make  things  go,"  aunt  Serena  added  confidently; 
which  is  all  that  was  said  at  the  Poplars  until  Bruce 
came  up  late,  when  he  and  aunt  Serena  had  a  long, 
and  somewhat  earnest,  conversation.  But  Rose 
treated  the  matter  lightly.  "  I  will  not  avoid  it," 
she  thought.  "Why  should  I?"  So  she  said  to 
Sydney  at  once,  — 

"  Mrs.  Vivien  is  going  to  bring  her  cousin,  who 
has  just  come  ;  "  and  then  the  loyal  child  looked 
away,  that  she  might  not  surprise  any  sudden  ex 
pression  in  his  eyes.  "  She  calls  her  Eleanor.  She 


322  AUNT  SEEENA. 

says  you  used  to  know  her."  This  was  no  question, 
but  a  simple  statement  of  facts. 

Bruce,  with  unhesitating  frankness  and  a  decided 
frown,  answered  promptly,  — • 

"I  have  known  her  extremely  well,  Hose.  She 
is  to  me  at  present  the  most  disagreeable  person  in 
the  world,  and  she  is  not  a  woman  whom  I  wish 
you  to  know." 

"Never  mind,  dear,"  said  Rosamond,  glowing 
with  delight.  Let  them  come  on,  these  mysterious, 
beautiful  Circes. .  What  cared  she?  She  looked  at 
him  with  a  charming  smile.  "I  think,"  she  said 
slowly,  "  that  I  shall  begin  to-day  to  call  you 
Sydney." 

' '  Angel !     Begin  now. ' ' 

"No:  later.  When  I  quite  dare.  Now  I  must 
arrange  the  flowers ;  and  aunt  Serena  wants 
you." 

Down  in  the  city,  two  women  sat  in  Mrs.  Vivien's 
cherubic  boudoir  engaged  in  conversation,  not  ani 
mated,  but  portentous.  One  reclined  in  a  striking 
ly  easy  attitude  upon  the  sofa.  The  other  rocked 
herself  gently  in  a  low  willow  chair. 

"  What  color  are  these  infants?  "  inquired  she  of 
the  sofa. 

"  Rose  Wellesley  has  most  exquisite  coloring,  both 
creamy  and  warm,  and  what  the  poets  would  call 
golden  eyes,"  Mrs.  Vivien  answered,  for  once  not 
averse  to  praising  a  woman's  beauty. 

"  Never  mind  the  poets,"  drawled  a  languid,  lazy 
voice.  "  What  do  you  call  them? " 


AUNT  SERENA.  323 

The  little  chair  for  an  instant  rocked  faster;  but 
the  little  woman  in  it  said  softly,  — 

"  I  call  them  simply  fascinating,  Eleanor,  —  fasci 
nating  and  glorious.  Changeable,  don't  you  know, 
dear?  Gray,  with  yellow  lights,  or  yellow,  with 
gray  lights.  They  are  not  hazel,  but  they  are  too 
light  for  brown." 

"And  the  rest  of  her?" 

"Straight,  handsome  features.  Tall,  slight,  sup 
ple,  round,  graceful,  fair.  That  wonderful  creamy 
fairness,  you  know,  dear,"  —  Mrs.  Vaughn  was  a 
superb  brunette,  — "  and  the  very  prettiest  hand  I 
ever  saw." — Mrs.  Vaughn's  hand  was  renowned. 

"Ah,  a  woman's  beauty  merely,"  she  said  with 
a  yawn. 

"  No  :  a  man's  beauty  too." 

"Indeed!  I  should  not  have  imagined  it  from 
your  description.  "Women  never  praise  men's  beau 
ties,  you  know,  unless,  of  course,  they  are  magnani 
mous,  like  you,  Alice.  And  the  other?  " 

"  Some  people  admire  her  immensely.  She  is 
slight,  cold,  pale,  clever-looking,  and  extremely 
blond." 

' '  Which  of  these  babes  has  the  honor  to  receive 
Sydney  Bruce's  transient  adoration  ?  " 

"Why,  Eleanor,  I've  told  you  repeatedly;"  and 
Mrs.  Vivien  made  no  attempt  to  conceal  her  impa 
tience.  "It  is  Rose  Wellesley ;  and  it  will  do  no 
good  to  ignore  the  fact  that  he  is  perfectly  serious, 
and  more  in  love  than  he  ever  was  in  his  life." 

"I  thought  there  might  be  some  mistake,"  Mrs, 


324  AUNT  SERENA. 

Vaughn  drawled,  with  another  comfortable  yawn. 
"  Sometimes,  you  know,  when  there  are  two,  things 
are  not  quite  clear.  What  will  these  dear  little  girls 
be  likely  to  wear?  " 

"White." 

"  Good.     I  will  wear  black." 

"  I  will  not  disguise  from  you  that  you  will  have 
all  you  can  do  to  meet  them  with  any  advantage  to 
yourself."  Mrs.  Vivien  volunteered  this  informa 
tion  with  a  smile  more  suggestive  of  satisfaction 
than  regret. 

"You  speak  from  experience ?"  said  the  lazy, 
melodious  voice. 

' '  I  have  never  had  occasion  to  compete  with  either 
of  them,"  Mrs.  Vivien  said  with  equal  gentleness. 
"But  I  merely  suggest,  in  your  interest,  that  there 
is  a  difference  between  eighteen  and  thirty,  —  more 
or  less,  —  especially  at  a  garden-party ;  and  that 
men,  in  their  fatuity,  sometimes  prefer  what  they 
call  freshness  to  ripe,  though  undeniable  charms, 
like  your  own." 

"Thanks,  dear,"  said  the  beauty,  with  amiable 
indifference.  "Then,  I  do  wear  well?  I  fancied 
at  one  time  that  I  should  not." 

"  But  3Tou  do  not  ask  how  your  old  love  is  look 
ing,  Eleanor." 

' '  He  ?  I  presume  he  looks  as  he  did  ten  years 
ago,  as  he  will  after  ten  years.  That  kind  of  man 
is  not  apt  to  change  much." 

" How  long  since  you  have  seen  him? " 

' '  I  observe  that  you  have  not  overcome  your  old 


AUNT  SERENA.  325 

habit  of  asking  questions.  You  know,  mine  is  never 
to  answer  them.  Still,  as  I  have  come  a  long  dis 
tance  to  see  you,  my  dear  cousin,  and  as  I  have  no 
motive  for  concealing  from  you  the  fact  you  crave, 
I  will  make  an  exception  in  your  favor.  It  is  pre 
cisely  six  years  since  I  saw  him  under  a  spreading 
—  I  forget  what  kind  of  a  tree.  It  was  rather  a 
stupid  scene,  if  I  remember.  Other  of  my  when- 
we-two-parted  episodes  have  been  brighter.  You 
cannot  really  do  much,  you  know,  if  a  man  neither 
reproaches  you  nor  storms,"  she  said  meditatively, 
"  but  simply  looks  at  you  with  steadily  furious  eyes, 
and  seems  to  be  studying  you  with  a  microscope  all 
the  time.  I  believe,  in  my  emotion,  I  contradicted 
myself  twice,  rather  dangerously ;  and  he  knew  it. 
Now,  men  do  not  usually.  I  have  often  wondered 
why  he  did;"  and  she  laughed  her  soft,  pleasant 
laugh. 

"Curious  how  unfortunately  things  work  some 
times,"  Mrs.  Vivien  coolly  commented.  "Old 
Vaughn  not  having  been  so  very  rich  after  all ;  and 
Bruce,  as  far  as  I  can  ascertain," — 

"Alice,"  interrupted  the  liquid,  lazy,  insolent 
voice,  "might  I  suggest  that  there  are  some  sub 
jects  about  which  ladies  do  not  talk?  " 

"Really,  Eleanor,  since  when  have  you  become 
so  fastidious  ?  and  why  are  you  so  farcical  as  to  pose 
for  my  benefit?  In  fact,  why  are  you  here? " 

Mrs.  Vaughn  half  closed  her  broad,  heavy  eyelids. 
"  Questions  again,"  she  said  amiably.  "  I  am  here 
to  meet  Sydney  Bruce,  an  old  and  much  esteemed 


326  AUNT  SERENA. 

friend.  If  I  enjoy  Wynburg,  I  may  stay  a  month 
or  more.  If  not,  I  shall  join  the  Cushiugs  in  the 
Tyrol,  where  I  also,  happily,  have  an  old  and  es 
teemed  friend.  But  ladies  do  not  discuss  money 
and  men  in  one  breath.  Separately,  separately,  my 
dear  Alice.  That  reminds  me,  however,  to  mention 
to  you  that  you  will  have  your ' '  —  she  hesitated 
for  a  word,  then  smiled  at  her  selection  —  "per 
quisites,  in  any  event.  Your  reports  through  the 
winter  were  useful.  Then,  some  years  ago,  there 
was  some  other  affair,  I  believe, — I  forget  the 
name,  —  when  you  found  out  something  for  me.  I 
never  forget  indebtedness  —  of  any  description.  You 
will  be  safe,  whatever  happens.  Of  course  I  should 
not  have  come  over  for  one." 

"You  would  have  done  better  to  have  taken  my 
advice,  and  come  in  the  winter.  You  are  too  late," 
Mrs.  Vivien  said  with  the  emphasis  of  convic 
tion. 

"  Pardon  me  for  differing.  I  look  better  in  sum 
mer,"  said  the  splendid  dark  beauty  ;  "  and  he  had 
not  had  time  to  tire  of  her.  Then,  in  winter  I 
would  have  had  no  Tyrol." 

Mrs.  Vivien  looked  at  her  with  unwilling  admira 
tion.  She  considered  her  cousin  the  most  beautiful 
and  the  cleverest  woman  she  knew.  But  it  had 
been  rather  a  hard  fate,  she  thought,  always  to  be 
eclipsed  by  Eleanor.  Sometimes  she  fairly  hated 
the  insolent,  imperious,  velvet- voiced  creature ;  but 
Bhe  had  never  wilfully  betrayed  her  interests. 

"  It  will  be  a  wonder  if  he  escapes  you,  Eleanor." 


AUNT  SERENA.  327 

"  I  am  never  over-sanguine,  but  I  never  burn  my 
bridges  behind  me,"  she  said  softly. 

"  Only,  he  is  not  a  boy,  as  he  was  the  first  time, 
nor  yet  so  impressionable  as  he  was  the  second,  when 
you  had  him  fast,  and  lost  him,  —  it  seems  to  me, 
by  the  only  poor  management  of  your  life." 

"  These  things  are  fate.  Had  the  result  been 
brilliant,  you  would  not  have  called  the  means  poor 
management.  As  for  the  past,  I  have  enjoyed  my 
self,  and  regret  nothing.  Alice,  let  us  give  our 
attention  to  the  immediate  future.  I  shall  not  need 
you  at  the  old  lady's  fete-champetre.  You  can  send 
me  alone,  if  you  please." 

"In  all  my  life  I  have  never  known  such  incom 
parable  insolence  !  "  Mrs.  Vivien  exclaimed  sharply. 
"  You  are  superb,  my  dear  Eleanor.  But,  when  you 
presume  to  dictate  to  this  extent,  you  must  yourself 
see  that  it  is  folly." 

"  Softly,  softly ;  "  and  Mrs.  Vaughn  laughed  with 
perfect  amiability.  "  Kindly  grasp  the  idea,  as  soon 
as  convenient,  that  I  simply  do  not  want  you.  I 
have  a  certain  prejudice,  unfounded  it  may  be, 
against  being  at  critical  moments  under  the  espion 
age  of  —  a  relative,  we  will  say.  It  interferes  with 
the  perfect  freedom  of  action  essential  to  the  true 
artist.  So  you  will  have  a  neuralgic  headache,  if 
yoa  please.  It's  no  use  to  oppose  me,  Alice  ;  "  and 
she  smiled  her  languid,  lovely  smile.  Then,  slowly 
raising  her  white,  firm,  right  hand,  the  long  fingers 
outstretched,  she  brought  it  down  as  if  crushing 
some  infinitesimal  insect  with  her  soft,  cruel  palm. 


328  AUNT  SERENA. 

"You  will  flutter  on  successfully  many  years,  if  I 
do  not  interfere.  You  are  a  woman  whom  the  world 
tolerates :  it  is  hard  to  say  why,  except  that  the 
world  is  a  fool.  Better  and  worse  women  suffer, 
but  your  kind  succeeds.  You  are  not  beautiful 
enough,  clever  enough,  or  fascinating  enough  to 
seem  dangerous,  I  presume  ;  so  the  credulous  world 
assumes  that  you  are  a  nice  little  woman.  And  you 
are,  Alice,  a  nice,  purr-y  little  woman ;  pretty,  too ; 
and  clever  enough,  my  dear,  quite  clever  enough  to 
be  sensible,  and  not  force  me  to  ruin  your  "Wynburg 
career."  All  this  she  said  with  her  pleasantly  mod 
ulated,  calm  voice.  "You  know  it  would  not  be 
difficult.  I  should  be  sorry  to  seem  uncousiuly, 
since  the  discerning  world  likes  you  so  well.  But, 
if  you  interfere  with  me,  I  shall  do  it.  And  as  you 
care  for  what  I  could  say  of  you,  and  as  I  care 
nothing  whatever  for  what  you  could  say  of  me,  you 
would  do  better  to  have  the  headache,  Alicia  mia." 

There  was  something  terrible,  even  to  Mrs.  Vivien, 
in  the  insolent,  imperturbable  quiet  of  this  beautiful 
creature.  It  was  as  impossible  to  quarrel  with  her 
as  with  aunt  Serena,  but  from  diametrically  opposed 
causes.  Mrs.  Vivien  recognized  a  master  spirit. 

"Eleanor,  you  are  a  very  strange  woman.  Play 
whatever  game  you  choose,"  she  said,  and  did  not 
for  the  moment  rock. 

"  Good.  Now  ask  your  German  dumpling,  who, 
by  the  way,  reads  you  with  her  shrewd  eyes  shut,  to 
send  me  a  broiled  chicken  and  half  a  bottle  of  dry 
champagne  at  one  o'clock.  I  shall  not  lunch  with 


AUNT  SERENA.  329 

your  herd  again.  Ugly  women  destroy  ray  appetite, 
and  I  never  lunch  heavily  when  a  fine  stroke  of 
diplomacy  is  pending.  However,  whether  I  succeed 
or  not,  we  can  dine  well  other  daj^s.  We'll  go  down 
to  the  hotel  to-morrow,  and  celebrate  either  our  vic 
tory  or  defeat.  In  the  latter  case,  there  remain  the 
green  hills  of  Tyrol.  And  between  us,  Alice,"  — 
she  threw  her  handsome  arms  over  her  head  with  & 
slow,  indolent  grace,  and  in  her  smile  was  the  mem 
ory  of  some  extremely  amusing  experience,  —  "  be 
tween  us,  Sydney  is  a  grain  too  soulful  to  enchain 
my  permanent  fancy." 

"  Your«?7ta«?" 

"  My  somewhat  volatile  interest,  then.  Oh,  I  can 
do  it  for  a  time  admirably.  I  used  to  have  as  many 
high  thoughts  as  he,  and  I  was  exceedingly  fond  of 
Sydney ;  but  it  would  bore  me  to  keep  myself  per 
petually  tuned  up  to  his  lofty  pitch.  Now,  Jack 
Gushing,  who  is  very  good-natured,  and  in  his  way 
quite  as  handsome  as  Sydney,  would  only  require  that 
his  wife  should  be  beautiful,  and  dress  with  elegance. 
Well,  well.  We  will  see,"  she  said,  with  indulgent 
consideration  of  their  respective  charms.  "Do  not 
forget  the  chicken  at  one,  please.  Then,  I'll  sleep 
till  four,  when  you  may  send  somebody  with  hot 
water.  And  now  I'll  read,  if  you  don't  mind,  my 
dear  Alice.  Thanks  for  every  thing.  The  cham 
pagne  dry  —  did  you  remember?  —  and  frappe." 
And  she  lay  back  among  the  cushions  with  the  con 
tented  sigh  of  an  infant. 


330  AUNT  SERENA. 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

"  "What  a  thing  friendship  is,  world  without  end! " 

EGBERT  BROWNING. 

"  Yet  courage,  Soul !  Nor  hold  thy  hope  in  vain. 

In  Faith,  o'ercome  the  steeps  God  set  for  thee. 
Beyond  the  mountain  summits  of  great  pain 
Lieth  —  thine  Italyl  " 

r  I  ^HE  other  guests  had  long  been  assembled  at  the 
-L  Poplars,  when  Mrs.  Vaughn's  carriage  drove 
up.  She  did  not  come  early,  as  Mrs.  Vivien  had 
announced,  but  waited  until  the  western  light  was  in 
what  she  considered  a  sufficiently  beautifying  condi 
tion.  Lady  Manners  was  there,  enjoying  a  quiet 
chat  with  aunt  Serena ;  and  Mrs.  Lancaster  sat 
near,  silent  and  softened.  Tears  of  joy  started  to 
her  eyes  as  she  saw  her  Molly  and  Daisy  playing 
lawn-tennis  with  Lady  Manners's  little  Lucy,  their 
flaxen  braids  flying,  their  long,  slight  feet  springing 
in  unison  with  the  braids  and  feet  of  aristocracy. 
Aunt  Serena  thoroughly  appreciated  her  emotion, 
and  could  not  repress  a  smile,  yet  liked  the  woman 
rather  better  than  before.  "  She  is  a  little  amusing, 
of  course,"  she  thought;  "but  there  is  something 
very  genuine  in  her."  "Mrs.  Lancaster,"  she  said 
with  real  sympathy,  "you  are  happy,  I  see,  iu 
watching  your  children's  pleasure.  They  are  such 


AUNT  SERENA.  331 

good  little  girls,"  she  added  heartily.  "  I  shall  miss 
Molly  and  Daisy  when  I  go." 

"They  are  good  little  girls,"  Mrs.  Lancaster  re 
plied  with  tearful  emphasis  ;  and  in  her  pleasurable 
agitation  forgot  to  mention  that  they  were  always 
perfectly  chaperoned.  It  actually  seemed  'or  the 
moment  as  if  it  pleased  her  to  hear  them  simply 
called  good. 

Mrs.  Van  Rensalaer  and  Mrs.  Raymond,  Mr. 
Raymond  and  Mr.  Van  Rensalaer,  —  there  was  a 
Mr.  Van  Rensalaer,  an  excellent  man,  if  somewhat 
lost  in  the  glory  radiating  from  his  wife,  — were  en 
gaged  in  au  animated  discussion  with  aunt  Serena's 
German  banker  and  his  wife.  Rose  and  Gertrude, 
with  Kitty  Van  Rensalaer  and  the  banker's  daugh 
ters,  were  shooting  at  a  target,  Bruce,  von  Falken- 
steiu,  and  one  or  two  lieutenants  standing  by. 

A  few  musicians  were  pLoying  on  an  upper  bal 
cony,  at  an  agreeable  distance  ;  servants  were  offer 
ing  refreshments  at  informal  little  tables.  While  the 
lights  in  the  fragrant  garden  were  perfection  in  their 
softness,  Eleanor  Vaughn,  with  sinuous,  slow  grace. 
—  her  long  draperies  trailing  behind  her,  her  perfect 
shoulders  and  arms  merely  suggesting  themselves 
through  half-transparent  black,  dusky-red  roses  at 
her  girdle,  a  dusky  red-rose  glow  on  her  beautiful 
cheek,  low-browed,  with  lovely,  languid  eyes  and 
softly-smiling  lips,  —  came  over  the  smooth  lawn 
towards  aunt  Serena,  murmuring  Mrs.  Vivien's  ex 
cuses  and  her  own  gratification.  Her  rare  voice,  with 
its  sweet,  slow  modulations,  made  an  excellent  im- 


332  AUNT  SERENA. 

pression.  Aunt  Serena  was  surprised  by  this  brilliant 
solitary  figure  ;  but  she  was  an  Arab  in  her  ideas  of 
hospitality.  "Cousin  Alice  prevailed  upon  me  to 
come,  although  I  told  her  it  was  almost  too  selfish 
to  leave  her,  suffering,  and  enjoy  her  friend's  Para 
dise.  Now,  indeed,  since  I  have  seen  it,  it  seems 
doubly  selfish."  She  was  telling  Miss  Lennox  this, 
not  with  Mrs.  Vivien's  flattering  air,  but  with  calm, 
suave  sincerity  of  manner,  when  Rosamond,  radiant 
and  smiling,  her  long  bow  in  her  hand,  came  quickly 
over  from  the  other  lawn  to  receive  the  late  guest 
with  pointed  courtesy.  Gertrude,  as  quasi  daughter 
of  the  house,  followed.  As  she  approached,  her 
hand  seemed  quite  accidentally  to  dislodge  three  or 
four  dark-red  roses  which  she  had  worn  in  her  belt. 
They  were  the  same  kind  that  Mrs.  Vaughn  was 
wearing,  and  in  the  same  position.  Bruce,  too, 
walked  leisurely  over  with  Gertrude. 

"We  need  not  present  Mr.  Bruce,  I  believe," 
Rose  said  with  precisely  appropriate  conventional 
intonation,  her  long  bow  pointing  over  her  shoulder, 
standing,  with  a  spirited  and  pretty  pose  of  the 
head,  and  altogether  a  virgin-huntress  air.  Mrs. 
Vaughn  extended  her  hand  with  graciously  cordial 
but  not  too  vivid  remembrance.  Bruce  bowed 
gravely  over  it ;  but  then  he  always  bowed  gravely. 
His  face  expressed  no  sentiment  of  pleasure  or 
the  reverse,  as  he  replied  with  brief  civility  to  her 
salutation. 

Aunt  Serena  felt  relieved.  Surely  there  was 
nothing  formidable  about  this.  It  was  not  in  the 


AUNT  SERENA.  333 

least  dramatic.  Oil  the  contrary,  Mrs.  Vaughn  was 
charmingly  well-bred.  Except  for  her  marvellous 
beauty,  against  which  aunt  Serena,  unlike  Mrs. 
Lancaster  and  other  excellent  matrons,  had  no  in 
veterate  prejudice,  she  would  not  have  been  striking. 
Her  indolent  repose,  and  low,  melodious  voice,  were 
quiet  in  the  extreme.  There  was  not  one  abrupt 
movement,  not  a  sharp  corner  in  her  speech  or  her 
person.  All  was  slow,  sleepy  grace,  like  heavy 
water-lilies  on  a  torpid  lake,  soothing  as  the  soft 
plashing  of  gentle  waves.  Her  beautiful  monotony 
and  lovely  inertia  were  replete  with  fascination. 
She  was,  however,  according  to  her  own  not  inapt 
classification,  emphatically  a  man's  beauty.  "Wo 
men  do  not  like  my  mouth,"  she  would  say  to  her 
cousin  Alice.  "It  has  too  many  curves  for  them.  It 
is  not  small  and  prim  enough.  They  are  afraid  of  it. 
"Well,  well !  it  is  not  exactly  methodistical,  I  admit ; 
but  I  and  my  mouth  agree  marvellously  well ;  and, 
do  you  know?  I  like  it:"  and  her  low,  melodious 
laughter  would  ripple  from  her  gleaming  scarlet  lips. 
She  was  a  gorgeous,  languid,  tropical  flower,  with, 
no  doubt,  her  special  use  in  the  economy  of  na 
ture. 

""Will  you  not  corne  with  us,  Mrs.  Vaughn?" 
Rosamond  asked  with  her  girlish  graciousness.  Ah, 
how  the  child's  heart  beat  under  the  white  folds 
of  her  simple  summer-dress  !  How  she  longed  to  do 
her  best !  Sydney  was  looking  at  her.  The  men  on 
the  balcony  -vere  playing  selections  from  "  Lohen 
grin."  It  was  the  sun,  no  doubt,  that  sent  the  fitful 


334  AUNT  SEEENA. 

red  to  her  cheek.  "Would  you  not  like  to  take  my 
bow,  Mrs.  Vaughn?" 

"I  would  much  rather  watch  you,  Miss  Welles- 
ley,"  said  the  lady  slowly,  with  an  amused,  indul 
gent  smile ;  and  the  two  walked  together  over  the 
smooth  turf.  "Chaste  Diana  and  an  houri," 
thought  Bruce.  Gertrude  could  have  kissed  Rose's 
light  feet  in  her  devotion  and  love  and  pity. 

"Little  brave  heart,"  she  thought;  "how  gal 
lantly  she  bears  it !  If  the  evening  were  only  over ! 
But  I  am  on  guard,  Madame  Cleopatra !  I  am 
watching  your  very  breath." 

The  four  were  about  to  pass  the  group  in  which 
Mrs.  Raymond  stood.  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Raymond  ad 
vanced  with  civil  incoherent  murmurs.  "  Never 
shall  that  woman  imagine  I  dread  her,"  thought  Flor 
ence  Raymond  ;  "  but  I  do,  I  do,  —  every  hair  on  her 
beautiful  head,  every  glance  of  her  lovely,  sleepy, 
diabolical  eyes.  Sydney's  face  does  not  betray 
him.  If  I  could  see  into  his  heart !  Dear  little 
Rose!  Dear,  pure,  perfect,  June  Rose!"  This 
while  she  was  courteously  remarking,  ' '  You  are  re 
markably  little  changed,  Mrs.  Vaughn.  Yes,  thanks  : 
those  are  my  little  girls  with  the  darker  hair." 

The  young  lieutenants  stood  in  an  entranced  semi 
circle  round  Eleanor  Vaughn's  garden-chair.  Ah, 
this  was  a  woman !  How  she  leaned  and  how  she 
listened  !  What  is  a  trifle  like  a  language,  when 
chivalry  lies  at  the  feet  of  beauty?  Then,  there 
was  French,  which  both  she  and  the  lieutenants 
spoke  with  beautiful  but  reckless  confidence. 


AUNT  SERENA.  335 

The  setting  sun  sent  its  last  greeting  to  her  warm 
dark  cheek.  The  fragrant  breeze  moved  the  lace 
on  her  perfect  throat.  The  heavy  fringed  eyelids 
drooped  and  rose  and  drooped  again.  She  was 
making  no  effort  to  charm.  She  was  as  natural  as 
the  slow  beckoning  of  the  drowsy  branches  in  the 
twilight  woods.  The  strong  fire  of  her  eyes  looked 
out  of  depths  as  hazy  and  beguiling  as  the  waver 
ing  mountain-mists.  Von  Falkeustein  shot  at  ran 
dom ;  "it  is  almost  too  dark,"  he  said  apologeti 
cally:  but  Rose  hit  the  bull's  eye  every  time.  "I 
rejoice  that  this  woman  has  come,"  thought  Bruce. 
"If  she  humiliates  me,  she  shows  me,  even  clearer 
than  I  knew  before,  how  utterly  I  belong  to  my  little 
love, — brain  and  heart,  soul  and  body."  Yet  his 
grave  face  gave  no  sign  of  feeling.  And  so  the 
complex  evening  wore  along. 

Once,  as  Eleanor  Vaughn  went  with  von  Falken- 
stein  to  the  white-rose  hedge  under  the  poplars,  to 
see  the  lights  steal  out  of  the  darkness  down  in  the 
city,  she  came  upon  Edith  and  Marjorie  walking 
slowly  together  in  the  narrow  path.  She  had  no 
affection  for  children,  —  no  antipathy,  yet  no  love. 
With  outstretched  palms,  one  to  the  right  and  one 
to  the  left,  and  with  her  soft,  unyielding  strength, 
she  gently  pushed  the  sisters  out  of  her  way. 

"Do  not  presume  to  push  me,  madame !  "  cried 
Edith  in  shrill  French,  the  first  language  she  had 
learned,  invariably  with  her  the  language  of  strong 
emotion.  But  sweet  Marjorie  gave  a  broad  leap, 
like  a  startled  fawn,  and  turning,  silently  faced  tho 


336  AUNT  SERENA. 

lady,  with  wondering,  contemplative  eyes.  Until 
they  were  sent  home  with  Elise,  Molly  and  Daisy 
and  Mrs.  Lancaster,  —  early,  just  as  the  wonderful 
lieutenants  had  begun  their  gyrations,  their  spurs 
clicking  and  their  sabres  swinging  in  the  dance,  — 
those  two  children  were  a  study  to  Mrs.  Vaughn. 
"  Et  must  be  their  interesting  Bruce  blood,"  she 
concluded.  But  how  absurd  of  these  mites  !  Edith, 
painful  as  it  is  to  relate,  would  station  herself  firmly 
within  two  feet  of  Mrs.  Vaughn,  her  back  turned, 
her  head  looking  over  her  shoulder,  with  her  mam 
ma's  society  expression  on  her  composed  child-lips. 
It  was  plainly  a  challenge  or  an  invitation  to  push  : 
while  Marjorie,  on  the  contrary,  would  spring  with 
her  light  deer-bound  whenever  she  saw  the  beauti 
ful  dark  woman  approaching ;  and  no  eyes,  except 
Gertrude's,  watched  Mrs.  Vaughn  so  intently  as  hers. 
Oh,  the  inflexible  dignity  of  soft  childhood  !  How 
its  secret  wounds  endure  into  far-off  distant  yeais. 
As  long  as  they  lived,  Edith  and  Marjorie  never 
forgot  or  quite  forgave  the  presumption  of  that 
push. 

Aunt  Serena  spoke  now  and  then  with  this  beau 
tiful  guest.  The  kind  soul  was  glad  things  were 
going  so  well,  and  was  grateful  to  Sydney  for  his 
quiet  assistance,  and  proud  of  Rose's  tact  and 
courtesy.  "  The  Lennoxes  were  always  hospita 
ble,"  she  thought,  with  gentle  pride  of  race.  She 
was  rather  tired,  having  made  many  preparations 
herself.  She  was  pleased  that  the  evening  had 
been  a  success ;  so  friendly  and  homelike  in  spite 


AUNT  SERENA.  337 

of  its  contradictory  elements.  Yes.,  if  the  truth 
were  known,  she  was  very  tired.  Perhaps  she 
missed  the  sea-air,  now  that  warm  weather  was 
coming :  she  felt  rather  dull.  Fortunately,  nothing 
more  was  required  of  her  but  to  chat  with  Lady 
Manners,  who  was  always  unexciting.  But  she  was 
glad  it  had  all  been  so  pleasant  for  dear  Rosamond. 
For  once  the  watchful  eyes  were  weary.  But  Ger 
trude  was  on  guard  —  and  the  poplars. 

The  musicians  plajTed  merrily  on.  All  the  win 
dows  were  open.  The  June  night,  while  not  oppres 
sive,  was  still  and  dark,  and  heavy  with  sweet  odors. 
The  children  had  been  sent  safely  home.  The  older 
guests  lingered.  The  young  people  danced  in  the 
long  salon.  Like  the  mignonette  the  night  before, 
even  staid  Lady  Manners  felt  enthusiastic.  "  Dear 
Miss  Lennox,  what  have  you  done  to  us  ? "  she 
asked. 

"  It  is  the  power  of  this  strange,  high  spot,  per 
haps,"  aunt  Serena  answered.  "But  is  there  not 
always  a  delight  in  feeling  one's  self  out  of  the  even 
row  of  mankind?  I  have  accidentally  discovered 
that  I  appreciate  a  symphony  concert  inexpressibly 
more  if  I  can  hear  it  in  an  airy  corridor  or  anteroom 
where  I  can  move,  rather  than  in  the  crowded  lines 
of  human  beings." 

And  Lady  Manners,  representative  of  lines  and 
rows,  listened  with  pleasure  and  amiable  concur 
rence.  It  must,  as  aunt  Serena  suggested,  have 
been  owing  to  the  genius  of  the  place. 

The  young  people  danced  on.     Sometimes,  in  au 


338  AUNT  SERENA. 

interval  of  rest,  Gertrude's  voice  floated  out  from 
the  height,  so  strong,  so  sweet,  so  inspired,  it  seemed 
as  if  its  impassioned  echoes  would  never  die.  Rose 
sang  too,  little  wayward,  tender  folk-songs ;  and 
her  pure  voice  crept  into  every  heart. 

"  Unless  I  can  fairly  get  at  him,  this  is  all  quite 
fruitless,"  reflected  Eleanor.  "He  always  had  two 
souls.  One  is  soaring  now  beyond  me.  If  I  can 
reach  the  other,  there  is  hope.  If  not,  there  is  —  the 
Tyrol."  Upon  which  her  smile  was  so  seductively 
sweet  that  von  Falkenstein  thought,  —  but  it  was 
only  a  fleeting  fancy  in  his  thrifty,  well-regulated 
brain,  —  "what  matters  the  estate  and  dull  little 
Olga?"  The  musicians,  as  an  interlude  between 
the  waltzes,  played  the  "  Bridal  Chorus  "  from  "  Lo 
hengrin." 

Rosamond  never  lost  for  one  moment  her  happy, 
assured  air.  Whether  she  were  enduring  any  hard 
strain  or  not,  only  Gertrude  knew  ;  for  aunt  Serena 
was  weary,  and  Sydney  was  —  a  man  :  and  there  are 
moments  when  a  woman  turns  from  love  itself  to 
the  comprehensive,  restful  understanding  of  another 
woman. 

At  the  end  of  a  long  corridor  the  villa  had  a  small 
heart-shaped  room,  with  mirrors  set  in  the  walls. 
What  its  especial  purpose  had  been  in  the  old  Tarno- 
rowowski  days,  they  had  often  wondered.  It  might 
have  been  a  boudoir.  It  might  be  pretty  for  birds, 
Rose  thought.  But  it  was  not  a  room  where  aunt 
Serena  and  the  young  girls  liked  to  stay,  since  its 
mirror-walls  had  the  effect  of  presenting  an  inter- 


AUNT  SEEENA.  339 

minable  series  of  reflections.  The  Tarnorowowskis 
must  have  had  a  passionate  interest  in  curious  effects 
in  the  refraction  of  light,  they  concluded. 

' '  Come  to  me  in  the  glass-room  as  soon  as  you 
can.  I  want  to  see  you  one  instant  alone,"  Bruce 
had  whispered  to  Rose  during  her  pretty  solicitude 
for  her  guests. 

Eleanor  saw  the  quick,  glad  look  of  assent  as 
Bruce  went  back  to  turn  Miss  Van  Rensalaer's  music  ; 
while  Rose  continued  her  conversation  with  the  one 
lieutenant  who  was  able  to  withstand  the  intoxication 
of  Mrs.  Vaughn's  presence. 

"If  I  go  out  on  the  long  veranda,  I  shall  see  in 
which  room  they  go,  or  if  they  are  in  the  garden, 
and  shall  not  be  seen  if  I  keep  in  the  shadow.  I 
know  when  Sydney's  eyes  say  come.  I  do  not  want 
in  the  least  to  interrupt  their  tete-a-tete,  but  I  must 
see  Cid  alone.  How  amusing  it  is  to  be  the  original 
volume  of  a  romance  of  which  they  are  now  preparing 
a  kind  of  weak,  expurgated  edition!"  Her  smil 
ing  mouth  disclosed  its  small,  milk-white  teeth  ;  and 
her  lovely  eyes  looked  warm  and  kind.  She  rose, 
scattering  the  lieutenants.  She  saw  that  Bruce  was 
not  in  the  room.  "  Let  us  stand  by  that  window," 
she  said  to  von  Falkensteiu,  "where  the  breeze 
comes  in  from  the  garden.  It  is  a  warm  night ;  but 
delicious,  is  it  not?"  with  a  slow  lifting  of  her 
tropical  gaze.  Von  Falkenstein  thought  that  it  was. 
She  was  enjoying  herself  fairly  well  this  evening. 
Certain  phases  of  it  were  vividly  entertaining.  She 
never  felt  resentment,  jealousy,  or  irritation.  This 


340  AUNT  SEEENA. 

gave  her  undeniable  advantage  in  all  games  of 
chance.  If  any  thing  was  in  her  way,  she  pushed 
it  gently  aside,  or  crushed  it  with  her  soft,  slow  foot. 

From  the  window  she  observed  the  room.  Bruce 
was  still  absent.  In  the  next  room  there  were  two 
tables  of  whist.  She  could  see  Raymond  strenu 
ously  disputing  a  point  with  Mrs.  Van  Rensalaer, 
and  the  others  listening  with  amused  attention.  She 
saw  Rose  steal  to  the  door  leading  into  the  corridor. 
Kitty  Van  Rensalaer  called  her.  "  O  Rose  !  please 
come,  and  sing  '  Gretelein. " '  —  "In  one  moment. ' '  — 
"  Now,  please,  before  the  next  waltz."  Rose  came 
back  to  sing  the  little  song.  What  did  it  matter,  — 
a  moment  more  or  less  ?  She  was  supremely  happy. 
She  was  glad  to  sing,  to  do  any  thing  to  oblige  any 
body.  She  trusted  herself.  She  was  no  longer 
oppressed  by  the  consciousness  of  Sydney's  past. 
This  Mrs.  Vaughn  was  very  beautiful.  She  seemed 
kind  too.  But  Rose  did  not  fear  her  more  than  she 
feared  the  magnificent  summer  sunset  upon  which 
Sydney  had  turned  his  back  to  gaze  at  her.  She 
came  brightly  back,  then,  and  sang. 

Mrs.  Vaughn  stepped  out  on  the  veranda.  The 
climbing  roses  clustered  around  her.  No  one  ob 
served  her  except  von  Falkenstein  and  Gertrude, 
whose  cold,  critical  eyes  said,  "What  now,  you 
handsome  panther?"  The  abandoned  lieutenants, 
with  an  assumption  of  returning  manliness,  grouped 
themselves  about  the  piano. 

"Oh,  my  vinaigrette!"  murmured  the  beautiful 
woman. 


AUNT  SERENA.  341 

Von  Falkenstein  stooped  to  look  for  it. 

"  I  must  have  dropped  it  round  there  under  the 
poplars.  It  is  a  little  thing,  but  I  prize  it  for  ts 
associations.  I  have  had  it  since  I  was  a  child," 
she  said  with  touching  though  mild  regret. 

She  had  bought  it  the  week  before,  as  a  good  bar 
gain,  to  use  in  the  cars.  It  reposed  securely  in  the 
depths  of  her  pocket. 

"I  will  find  it  for  you  surely,"  said  the  kind- 
hearted  young  man.  "May  I  leave  you  here?  " 

"Don't  stay  too  long,"  murmured  the  beauty, 
"  or  I  shall  come  to  help  search." 

Von  Falkenstein  flew  to  the  poplars. 

"She  is  safe,"  thought  Gertrude.  "No  one 
cares  how  much  she  flirts  with  von  Falkenstein,  for 
he  will  be  none  the  worse  for  it.  He  is  India  rub 
ber.  Where  is  Mr.  Bruce  ?  Never  mind.  He  can 
take  care  of  himself.  I'll  stay  by  Rose." 

Eleanor's  garments  trailed  softly  the  whole  length 
of  the  veranda.  She  looked  in  every  window  of 
the  long  suite.  She  came  to  the  end,  where  a  small 
room  was  dimly  lighted,  and  a  man  stood,  his  pro 
file  turned  towards  her,  facing  the  corridor.  "  Set 
liubscli  meine  Braut,"  sang  Rose's  tender  little  voice 
in  the  distance,  She  pushed  the  casement  noise 
lessly,  passed  in.  and  laid  her  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
He  started,  with  a  look  of  unconcealed  disgust  on 
his  face,  that  left  her  in  no  doubt  as  to  the  proba 
bilities  of  her  success.  "  This  is  still  more  amus 
ing,"  she  thought  in  her  good-natured  way.  "  Oh, 
my  handsome,  fickle  Sydney !  What  a  contrast 
between  then  and  now." 


342  AUNT  SERENA. 

"At  last!  At  last!"  she  murmured  in  accents 
of  unrestrained  tenderness. 

"Mrs.  Vaughn,"  said  Bruce  with  icy  coldness, 
"you  have  apparently  mistaken  the  room  and  the 
person.  Allow  me  to  show  you  the  way  back." 

"  I'll  take  the  first  train  for  the  Tyrol  to-morrow," 
resolved  Eleanor,  with  humorous  appreciation  of  the 
scene. 

But  acting  was  to  her  like  the  breath  of  life. 

"Have  you  forgotten  the  dear  old  days?  O 
Sydney  !  tell  me,  have  you  forgotten?  "  Her  voice 
was  low  and  rich  with  tender  emotion. 

He  stood  before  her  drawn  up  to  his  full  height. 

"I  have  forgotten,"  he  said  with  magnificent  in 
consequence,  and  stern-  emphasis  on  every  syllable. 
"  I  have  forgotten  every  day  and  hour  and  word  I 
ever  knew  with  you." 

"  Now,  Jack  Gushing  could  never  have  said  that," 
she  thought,  with  artistic  enjoyment  of  the  man's 
dignity.  The  Tyrol  for  the  moment  assumed  a  less 
attractive  hue.  "  After  all,  Sydney  is  but  human. 
Men  relent,  swearing  they  will  not."  Pier  senses 
were  as  acute  as  her  morals  were  obtuse.  She  had 
the  hearing  of  a  wild  thing  of  the  woods.  A  light, 
swift  step  was  coming  down  the  corridor. 

"  Oh,  call  me  Eleanor  once  more  !  "  she  cried  pas 
sionately,  throwing  herself  upon  his  breast,  clasping 
him  close  with  her  jasmine-scented  arms ;  and 
Rose's  happy,  hurrying  feet  stopped  short  near  the 
threshold.  Ah,  the  fatal  Tarnorowowski  mirrors  I 
They  gave  back  the  cruel  vision,  not  once,  but  in  an 


AUNT  SEEENA.  343 

innumerable  mocking  series.  •  Dim  yet  distinct,  im 
possible  yet  actual,  a  man  and  a  woman,  lovers, 
reaching  down  into  inconceivably  remote  space, 
haunting  all  time. 

One  instant, — then  the  girl  turned,  and  went  back 
towards  the  dancers.  Faithful  Gertrude  met  her  on 
the  way. 

' '  Rose,  Rose  !     What  is  it  ?  " 

The  stunned,  vacant  look  left  her  eyes. 

"  Let  us  dance,"  she  said,  and  laughed  ;  but  her 
laugh  made  Gertrude  faint  with  fear. 

In  the  heart-shaped  room,  Sydney  Bruce  had  un 
wound  the  clinging  arms  with  deliberate  force.  A 
mighty  scorn  convulsed  him,  scorn  of  her,  scorn  of 
himself,  that  she  had  ever  enchained  him. 

"  A  gentleman  does  not  use  strength  against  a 
woman,  Sydney,"  said  Eleanor  Vaughn,  smiling,  and 
looking  at  her  wrists.  "  Really,  the  years  have  not 
improved  your  manners." 

He  looked  at  her,  and  turned  to  leave  the  room. 
His  contempt  was  too  profound  for  words,  but  it 
was  for  himself  also. 

"  O  Sydney  dear !  "  she  called  with  languid  insou 
ciance,  "don't  let  us  make  scenes  under  granny 
Lennox's  roof.  How  shall  I  look  strolling  in  after 
you,  pensive,  neglected,  and  alone?  Take  me  in. 
That's  a  dear.  Not  that  I  care  on  my  own  account. 
It's  only  my  good  nature,  my  care  for  others.  Let 
us  go  in  together.  Two  old  friends  like  us.  What 
is  more  natural?" 

He  turned  again,  and  looked  at  her.  His  face 
was  coldly  gentle. 


344  AUNT  SERENA. 

He  even  smiled,  but  the  smile  was  for  his  own 
thoughts.  "Pardon,  oh,  pardon,  my  perfect  Rose  ! " 

"You  are  right,  Mrs.  Vaughn,"  he  said  formally. 
"Allow  me,"  offering  his  arm.  She  was  not  worth 
resentment.  Silence  was  too  dignified  a  tribute  to 
offer  her. 

They  passed  in  among  the  dancers.  She  had 
assumed  a  significant,  over-sweet,  conscious  look. 
It  was  as  if  she  had  been  listening  to  some  tender 
revelation.  Gertrude  hated  her.  She  even  at  the 
moment  hated  Sydney.  But  she  saw  his  eyes  follow 
Rose  as  she  danced  a  fast  and  furious  galop.  "  Let 
us  go  till  the  music  stops,"  she  had  said  to  her 
partner. 

Gertrude  saw  him  draw  a  long,  slow  breath  as  of 
relief.  She  saw  thankfulness  in  every  line  of  his 
face.  "He  is  true.  He  is  pure  gold.  But  what 
is  making  my  poor  Rose  mad  ? ' '  And  she  looked 
instinctively  for  aunt  Serena.  She  was  placidly 
playing  old-fashioned  whist  in  the  next  room.  "She 
is  very  weary.  Oh  !  what  shall  I  do  to  help  Rose?" 

Eleanor,  with  an  ecstatic  lieutenant,  sauntered 
out  to  find  von  Falkenstein.  The  devoted  young 
man  was  down  on  all- fours  under  the  poplars,  beat 
ing  the  grass  with  his  hands. 

"I  am  so  sorry!"  she  said  sweetly.  "I  have 
found  the  vinaigrette.  "It  was  on  the  veranda, 
after  all." 

"We  really  must  go,  dear  Miss  Lennox,"  said 
Lady  Manners.  "  It  is  not  very  late,  I  believe  ;  but 
you  make  us  forget  that  some  of  us  have  been  here 


AUNT  SEEENA.  345 

since  four  o'clock,  and  that  we  have  a  drive  of  nearly 
an  hour." 

The  little  company  was  soon  making  its  adieus. 
Rosamond  was  so  much  occupied  with  her  young 
friends  that  she  had  not  a  moment  or  a  glance  for 
Bruce.  This  naturally  did  not  disturb  him.  He  was 
neither  very  young,  nor  a  madly  impatient  lover.  Ha 
quietly  wondered  why  she  had  not  come  to  the  glass- 
room  ;  but  was  rather  glad,  as  things  had  happened, 
that  something  had  detained  her. 

The  people  all  went  together,  and  the  family  stood 
informally  on  the  porch  as  the  carriages  drove  up. 
It  was  a  pleasant  scene.  Rose  was  unusually  gay. 
Occasionally  Bruce  spent  the  night  at  the  Poplars  to 
be  able  to  ride  with  the  young  girls  in  the  early 
morning.  It  was  understood  that  he  was  to  remain 
to-night.  His  horse  was  in  the  stable.  The  Ray 
monds  were  already  gone,  and  all  the  others,  except 
Mrs.  Vaughn  and  the  lieutenants.  As  her  carriage 
drove  up,  and  she  was  saying  her  last  charming 
words  to  the  ladies,  Rosamond  said  clearly  in  a  deci 
sive  tone,  — 

"  Aunt  Serena,  we  ought  not  to  let  Mrs.  Vaughn, 
a  stranger,  drive  home  so  late  alone.  Mr.  Bruce, 
will  you  not  drive  down  with  Mrs.  Vaughn?  " 

"  She  is  jealous.  She  is  madly  jealous,"  thought 
Eleanor. 

"You  are  so  considerate,  Miss  Wellesley  ;  although 
I  should  have  suffered  in  silence  without  your  kind 
intervention.  I  am  a  little  timid,"  said  the  beauti 
ful  woman,  leaning  back  indolently  against  the 


346  AUNT  SERENA. 

cushions,  the  bright  light  from  the  entrance  fulling 
on  her  lustrous  eyes  looking  out  of  a  bewitching  cloud 
of  black  lace. 

"  Mr.  Bruce,"  said  Rose  with  a  smile,  and  a  polite 
little  wave  of  her  hand  towards  the  carriage-door. 
The  other  hand,  which  she  held  behind  her,  was 
tightly  clinched  ;  but  only  Gertrude  saw. 

Bruce  stood  like  a  stone  image.  He  was  thunder 
struck.  Rose  always  said  Mr.  Bruce  when  she  called 
him  by  any  formal  name  at  all.  But  she  had  never 
said  it  like  this.  Nor  did  aunt  Serena  understand. 
Puzzled,  she  began  hesitatingly, — 

"  Of  course,  if  Mrs.  Vaughn  is  timid  "  — 

"  Pray  allow  me,"  and  von  Falkenstein  advanced 
eagerly.  "  If  I  may  escort  madame  ' '  — 

Mrs.  Vaughn  lay  back  smiling,  and  enjoying  the 
dilemma.  "Really,"  she  thought,  "I  would  not 
have  believed  there  was  so  much  spirit  in  the  child. 
If  I  had  any  one  to  bet  with,  any  one  who  has  any 
appreciation  of  a  joke,  I'd  wager  two  dozen  Bertins 
that  she'll  win.  Nobody  else  has  the  shadow  of  a 
chance.  How  deliciously  furious  Sydney  is  !  " 

Rose  came  swiftly  down  the  three  steps,  and 
stood  by  the  gentlemen.  With  a  smile  for  von 
Falkenstein,  she  said,  as  if  etiquette  were  the  law 
of  her  life,  — 

"Mr.  Bruce  must  have  the  honor  this  evening, 
Ilerr  Lieutenant,  as  it  is  from  our  house,  you  know ; 
and  Mrs.  Vaughn  is  our  guest." 

This  was  incontrovertible.  Von  Falkenstein 
bowed  with  entire  submission. 


AUNT  SERENA.  847 

There  seemed  to  be  no  appeal,  but  Bruce  waited. 

"  Is  my  little  Rose  gone  mad?  "  he  thought. 

"I  am  always,  as  you  know,  at  your  orders,"  he 
said  with  light  and  significant  emphasis,  looking 
Rose,  who  stood  near  him,  earnestly  in  the  face. 

"Now,  he  needn't  pretend  it's  a  hardship  to  go 
down  with  that  superb  woman,"  thought  the  lieu 
tenants,  one  and  all. 

"Yes,  I  know,"  Rose  answered  with  a  strange 
little  laugh. 

"  You  wish  this?  "  he  said,  careless  of  the  others. 

"I  wish  it." 

He  deliberately  took  the  place  opposite  Mrs. 
Vaughn.  "  I  regret  to  disappoint  you,  von  Falken- 
stein,"  he  said. 

"Patience  till  to-morrow,"  he  thought.  "As 
for  this  woman,  I  can  drive  with  her  in  the  darkest 
night  to  the  end  of  the  world,  if  Rose  and  fate 
ordain." 

The  carriage  rolled  slowly  from  the  door. 

"Now,  Sydney,  smoke  and  be  social,"  said  the 
low,  laughing  voice.  "  You  are  in  a  ludicrous  posi 
tion,  you  know ;  but  you'll  make  it  more  absurd  if 
you  sit  there  in  utter  silence,  with  a  face  as  black 
as  the  night." 

"  Thanks,  Mrs.  Vaughn.  Since  you  permit  me," 
vaking  out  his  cigar-case, 

Gertrude  was  desperate.  It  had  been  impossible 
for  her  to  say  one  private  word  to  Bruce ;  but  she 
thought,  if  she  did  not,  Rose  would  go  mad,  or  die; 
"  Are  they  all  blind  ?  Do  they  not  see  her  eyes  ?  " 


348  AUNT  SEEENA. 

"  Mr.  Bruce  !  "  she  called  out  clear  and  loud. 

The  carriage  stopped. 

"Wait,  please." 

She  ran  in,  tore  a  fly-leaf  from  a  book,  and  wrote, 
"Come  back,  come  instantly  back,  at  any  hour. 
Something  is  breaking  Rose's  heart,  and  she  does 
not  tell  us." 

She  hurried  down  the  drive  with  the  paper  in  her 
hand.  "It  is  something  I  want  Mr.  Bruce  to 
bring,"  she  explained. 

"  To-morrow  morning  ?"  he  asked,  as  he  laid  it 
carefully  in  his  pocket-book. 

"As  soon  as  you  find  it  convenient,"  she  said, 
her  eyes  looking  daggers  at  Mrs.  Vaughn,  her  voice 
instinct  with  strong,  latent  meaning. 

' '  Actually  another  one  !  How  well  she  does  it ! 
Both  so  young  too !  I  am  indebted  to  Alice  for  a 
most  entertaining  evening.  She  shall  dine  well  to 
morrow." 

Mrs.  Vaughn  was  one  of  those  women  who  would 
give  a  photograph- book  filled  with  views  of  herself 
at  different  stages  of  her  beauty  to  girls  of  eighteen 
and  twenty,  as  she  would  give  a  rattle  to  a  baby ; 
and,  having  discharged  her  social  duty,  considering 
the  means  of  entertainment  adequate,  would  take 
her  siesta  in  their  presence.  She  rarely  wasted  a 
thought  on  them. 

"  Good-night  again,  Miss  Peyton,"  she  said  cor 
dially. 

Gertrude  bowed  haughtily,  without  speaking. 

Again  the  carriage  rolled  away. 


AUNT  SERENA.  349 

"  Delicious  !  Inimitable  !  Sydney,  I'm  glad  you 
deign  to  smoke  :  it  looks  more  gemuthlich.  That  is 
what  the  Germans  call  it,  is  it  not?  Those  little 
girls  up  there  are  very  gallant  little  fighters.  They 
have  managed  things  quite  prettily." 

"Mrs.  Vaughn,"  said  Sydney  civilly,  "you  would 
oblige  me  very  much  if  you  would  kindly  refrain  in 
my  presence  from  remarks  about  any  and  all  of  my 
friends.  With  this  slight  condition,  I  am  at  your 
service  as  escort.  Otherwise  I  shall  stop  the  car 
riage,  and  get  out." 

"  You  would,  I  am  sure  you  would  !  "  she  said 
with  intense  amusement.  "  You  are  tyrannical,  my 
dear  ;  but  I  yield,  being  amiable.  Only  one  word  in 
your  own  interest,  — don't  fail  to  read  that  pale  and 
wrathful  child's  missive  before  morning.  I  advise 
you  to  read  it  by  the  first  lamp-post.  Perhaps  the 
carriage-lamps  would  be  sufficient.  It  is  not  a  list 
of  books,  Cid.  Mark  my  words,  and  I  am  an 
experienced  woman.  Now,  to  change  the  subject. 
I  want  to  tell  you,  knowing  so  old  a  friend  will  be 
glad  to  congratulate  me,  that  I  am  engaged  to  be 
married  to  Jack  Gushing.  That  is,  he  considers  it 
an  engagement.  I  am  always  more  or  less  incredu 
lous  about  such  things,  and  have  been  waiting  for 
the  latest  advices.  I  have  now,  however,  nearly 
concluded  that  it  is  an  actual  engagement ;"  and  she 
iaughed  softly,  and  drew  her  lace  well  round  her 
tnroat.  "  Of  course,  this  made  our  bit  of  comedy  to 
night  the  more  delectable.  You  lack  humor,  Sydney, 
ii  you  cannot  appreciate  it.  They  say  few  women 


350  AUNT  SERENA. 

are  endowed  with  humor.  But  I  honestly  think  it's 
the  men  who  have  none.  They  often  are  stolid  and 
dull,  when  every  fine  point  of  a  situation  is  exquis 
itely  humorous,  and  appeals  most  irresistibly  to  me. 
Have  you  never*thought  of  this  ?  No  ?  But  why  so 
laconic?  Just  imagine  me  a  good-natured  man  in 
the  corner  of  a  railway  coupe,  and  then  you  will  be 
more  entertaining. 

So  the  sweet,  insolent  voice  drawled  out  its  edify 
ing  philosophy  as  the  carriage  went  down  the  hill  in 
the  soft,  dark,  June  night.  "Your  pardon,  my  little 
Rose,  that  I  ever  loved  this  woman  !  "  was  always 
Bruce's  thought.  "Drive  fast,"  he  said  to  the 
coachman  ;  and  to  her,  indifferentty,  — 

' '  Gushing  is  in  Austria,  is  he  not  ?  I  believe  some 
one  told  me  he  was  in  Vienna." 

At  the  villa  all  the  guests  were  gone,  and  the 
servants  were  putting  out  the  lights. 

' '  It  has  been  pleasant,  has  it  not,  children  ? 
Everybody  was  so  kind.  And  it  is  not  late,  only 
a  little  after  eleven ;  although  it  seems  later,  we 
began  so  early.  I  think  I  won't  sit  up  to  talk  it 
over  to-night,  however ;  as  I  feel  rather  fatigued.  It 
is  not  my  eighteenth  birthday,  you  know.  Good 
night,  dear  children.  Is  my  Rose  quite  happy?" 
asked  the  weary  little  old  lady. 

"  Quite,"  said  Rose,  kissing  her. 

"  That  is  the  first  untruth  that  ever  passed  her 
lips,  and  it  is  delirium,"  thought  Gertrude. 

Aunt  Serena  went  to  her  pleasant  room  over  the 
porch.  It  was  cool  and  fresh  and  fragrant.  The 


AUNT  SEEENA.  351 

casement  opened  towards  the  rose-garden.  "  I  am 
blessed,"  she  thought,  "blessed  in  my  friends,  and 
in  my  children's  happiness.  It  has  been  a  full  and 
beautiful  year  for  my  happy  little  girl."  Soon  she 
slept  peacefully. 

The  young  girls  occupied  adjoining  rooms. 

"Good-night,  Gertrude,"  said  Rose.  "It  has 
been  delightful,  has  it  not?  "  Her  voice  had  a  dry, 
hard  intonation.  She  was  pale  as  death,  and  hi  her 
eyes  was  the  look  Gertrude  feared. 

"  Do  you  want  me  for  any  thing,  Rose?  "  she  said 
timidly. 

"No,  thanks." 

"There  is  nothing  you  would  like  to  talk  about? 
I  thought  perhaps  you  were  not  sleepy.  I  am  not, 
if  you  want  me."  She  knew  she  was  awkward ; 
but  she  did  not  know  how  to  approach  her  friend, 
mortally  wounded,  yet  holding  herself  erect  in  her 
indomitable  pride. 

Rose  laughed. 

"I  have  nothing  to  talk  about.  What  should  I 
have  ?  It  has  been  a  pleasant  evening,  has  it  not  ? 
And  I  am  eighteen,  am  I  not?  Then,  we  have  said 
all.  Good-night,  Gertrude'  Sleep  well."  She 
kissed  her  mechanically,  and  closed  the  door  of  her 
room. 

"  As  fast  as  he  can  come,  for  life  or  death,  it  will 
be  an  hour  and  a  half  before  he  can  be  here.  O 
Rose,  my  pretty  Rose  !  What  did  you  see  ?  What 
did  you  hear?" 

And  Gertrude,  who  never  wasted  tears  on  her  own 


352  AUNT  SERENA. 

troubles,  threw  herself  on  her  bed  in  a  paroxysm  of 
silent  grief.  In  the  next  room  she  heard  Rose's 
incessant,  rapid  step.  Up  and  down,  up  and  down, 
like  a  caged  thing.  She  sat  motionless.  She  had 
turned  out  her  light.  "Rose  need  not  know  I  am 
listening.  No  one  can  help  —  only  he.  Even  if  aunt 
Serena  were  not  tired,  she  could  not  help,  to-night. 
Oh,  I  am  sure  it  must  be  a  frightful  mistake.  Yet 
he  went  out  to  meet  her ;  and  then,  her  beautiful, 
evil  face!" 

A  half-hour  passed.  Always  the  steps.  Then 
Rose's  door  softly  opened. 

"Oh,  what  is  she  going  to  do?  Is  she  quite 
mad?" 

But  Rose  was  not  mad.  She  was  merely  misera 
ble.  Softly,  that  she  might  not  waken  aunt  Serena 
or  Gertrude,  she  stole  down  the  stairway.  She 
opened  one  of  the  long  windows,  stepped  out,  and 
disappeared  in  the  darkness.  Behind  her,  noiseless, 
not  in  sight,  Gertrude  followed  like  a  faithful  hound. 

The  night  was  intensely  dark,  —  no  moonlight,  no 
starlight.  A  warm,  soft,  strong  wind  stirred  the 
languid  roses  and  the  poplar  leaves  and  the  great, 
gloomy  woods  across  the  way. 

Rose  lay  motionless  upon  the  ground. 

Do  other  women  feel  like  this?  Then,  what  do 
they  do  ?  Do  they  die  ?  A  revelation  of  the  woe  of 
the  whole  woman-world  had  suddenly  opened  itself 
before  her.  She  had  felt  only  the  innocent  rapture 
of  love,  the  sunny  love  that  had  known  no  sorrow, 
the  love  of  a  child.  Where  was  the  Rose  who  had 


AUNT  SERENA.  353 

been  singing  her  little  song  an  hour  before?  The 
Rose  that  laughed  and  danced?  Foolish,  happy 
Rose,  so  light  of  heart,  so  fearless,  so  content.  And 
who  was  this  trembling,  stricken  thing  prostrate  in 
the  damp  grass  below  pale  Hermes  ?  She  shuddered, 
and  clasped  the  cold  stone  closer,  then  lay  motionless 
as  a  broken  flower. 

Hermes  looked  down  upon  her  with  his  lovely, 
pitying,  speculative,  faint  smile.  The  uneasy  pop 
lars  sighed  incessantly.  "  So  useless  !  So  useless  ! " 
The  warm  wind  kissed  her  pale  cheek ;  and  the  soft, 
dark  night  covered  her  misery.  In  the  great  woods 
were  strange,  deep  murmurs.  Dear  aunt  Serena  slept. 
Gertrude  crouched  by  the  porch. 

"  Oh,  my  love,  my  love,  if  it  had  been  any  thing 
but  this  !  "  moaned  the  child.  "  If  they  had  accused 
you  of  a  great  crime — if  all  the  world  had  blamed 
you  —  I  would  not  have  believed  you  guilty.  I 
would  not  have  believed  this,  had  any  one  sworn  it 
was  true.  Not  Gertrude.  Not  aunt  Serena  herself. 
Not  an  angel  from  heaven.  I  would  have  said  they 
were  dreaming.  But  I  saw  you  with  my  own  eyes. 
I  saw  you."  She  buried  them  in  the  cool  grass, 
but  could  not  shut  out  the  picture  and  all  its  mul 
tiplied  reflections  in  those  ghastly  Tarnorowowski 
mirrors.  "I  saw  her  on  your  breast.  I  heard  her 
voice  as  she  spoke  to  you,  —  my  Sydney.  Oh,  you 
need  not  have  come  to  me !  You  need  not  have 
taught  me  to  love  you.  I  was  content  with  aunt 
Serena.  You  need  not  have  looked  at  me  so,  the 
night  we  heard  'Lohengrin.'  You  need  not  have 


354  AUNT  SEEENA. 

kissed  me  that  lovely  Christmas  Eve.  You  need 
not  have  been  so  kind,  so  beautiful,  so  strong,  so 
dear! 

' '  And  if  you  had  told  me  you  loved  her,  I  could 
have  borne  it  better.  She  is  so  wonderful  and 
beautiful.  I  am  so  very  young,  so  simple  for  a 
man  like  you.  But  you  could  have  trusted  me  with 
any  thing.  And  now,  there  is  no  help.  I  saw  you. 
I  have  lost  you  !  " 

And  Hermes  smiled  his  faint,  wise  smile  ;  and  the 
poplars  whispered,  "Useless!"  and  aunt  Serena 
slept,  and  Gertrude  kept  watch. 

What  was  calming  Rose  ?  Was  it  the  cool  dews 
of  the  nature  she  loved?  Was  it  the  strong,  soft, 
warm,  slow  wind?  Was  it  the  mystery  of  the  woods, 
—  the  prophecy  of  the  poplars  ? 

Her  poor  head  ceased  its  wild  throbbing.  But 
still  she  lay  motionless,  clasping  the  pedestal  of  the 
subtly-smiling,  fair  Greek  god. 

Down  in  the  valley  the  city-clocks  were  striking 
twelve.  She  raised  her  head,  and  listened,  as  one, 
in  times  of  grief,  is  often  apt  to  listen  to  famil 
iar  sounds,  with  mechanical  attention.  She  heard 
first  the  great,  sturdy  tower-clock.  Then  the  oth 
ers  in  order.  She  counted  all  the  strokes.  The 
Hospital-Church  clock,  always  slow,  was  slower 
than  ever  before.  She  waited  for  it.  Then  the 
other  tower-clock.  Then  the  silver  midnight-bell. 
Gertrude,  too,  heard  them  all,  and  counted  every 
stroke.  "  He  is  on  his  way  !  "  she  thought. 

Ah,  the  sweet,  solemn  bell !  While  Rose  lived,  she 


AUNT  SERENA.  355 

never  forgot  how  it  rang  out  to  her  that  night,  over 
the  silent,  sleeping  city.  How  its  oft-repeated, 
emphatic  two  strokes,  the  second  stronger  antl 
longer  than  the  first,  spoke  to  her  with  their  high 
and  holy  message.  "Have  faith!  Have  faith i 
Have  faith ! ' '  sang  the  warning  silver  voice  in  the 
midnight  stillness.  And  again,  "Have  faith! 
Have  faith!"  fainter  and  slower  until  it  died  away. 
But  up  to  the  heights,  up  to  the  sorrowful,  loving 
child-heart  floated  its  noble  counsel. 

How  white  Hermes  smiled  !  And  the  tallest  of  the 
seven  great  poplars,  the  one  Rose  had  leaned  upon, 
and  clasped  with  her  glad  young  arms  in  the  early 
morning,  whispered,  "Brothers,  I  see  him!  The 
swift  feet  of  his  horses  are  already  upon  the  hill." 
There  was  joy  among  the  poplars  and  laughter  in 
their  leaves.  The  strong,  warm  wind  breathed  upon 
her  upturned,  listening  face  ;  and  the  dark,  soft  night 
bent  over  the  kneeling  figure. 

An  ineffable  solemn  smile  was  on  her  lips. 

"  Now  I  know  I  have  not  lost  you.  I  have  you 
still, — to  love.  I  was  mad  and  wicked.  Forgive 
me,  Sydney.  I  am  so  young  for  you,  and  I  did  not 
understand ;  but  now  I  know.  If  they  had  doubted 
you  in  the  city- streets,  it  would  have  been  easy 
to  be  true.  If  you  had  asked  me  to  be  silent,  or  to 
speak,  it  would  have  been  nothing  to  do  your  will. 
How  could  I  think  I  could  determine  what  trial 
would  come  ?  How  could  I  dream  it  must  come  to 
me  just  as  it  came  to  poor  Elsa?  I  was  a  child.  But 
I  promised  you  faith.  Ah  !  this  is  what  I  promised 


356  AUNT  SEEENA. 

when  I  looked  into  your  eyes  that  night,  —  not  to 
doubt  whatever  came.  And  I  do  not,  I  do  not." 

She  rose,  and  pushed  back  her  damp,  falling  hair. 
"Thanks,  little  bell!  Once  you  led  a  wandering 
princess  home  through  dark  woods,  on  these  very 
hills.  I  think  I  am  slowly  finding  my  way ;  but 
it  is  not  easy,  Sydney  dear!  I  saw  with  my  own 
eyes  ;  but  this  is  my  trial,  just  this.  I  will  not  ask 
what  it  means.  I  will  not  speak.  I  think  you  love 
me,  dear ;  and  if  I  do  not  understand  quite,  why, 
you  are  different.  You  are  a  strong,  wise  man : 
you  know,  if  I  do  not,  why  that  woman  was  on 
your  breast ;"  and  one  brave  sob  broke  the  still 
ness.  "And  if  you  want  me  still,  I  am  your  own. 
And  if  you  do  not,  I  can  love  you  and  be  faithful. 
This  is  what  I  promised  in  your  eyes  that  night. 
To  be  faithful,  not  only  in  spite  of  shadows  and 
suspicions,  —  poor  Elsa,  they  did  not  give  you  time  ! 
—  but  in  spite  of  what  I  see  with  my  own  eyes,  and 
hear  with  my  own  ears,  and  know,  —  know  with 
my  own  heart,  though  it  break  with  the  know- 
ing!" 

"I  saw,  Sydney!  " 

And  she  opened  wide  her  soul-eyes,  and  looked 
boldly  at  the  mocking  multitude  of  visions  in  the  old 
Tarnorowowski  mirrors. 

Ah,  how  inscrutably  Hermes  smiled  ! 

"  He  is  almost  here,"  whispered  the  night- wind. 

"  If  we  could  but  teU  her  —  tell  her !  "  sighed  the 
poplars. 

Rose  stood  still  by  the  statue.     All  seemed  clear 


AUNT  SEKENA.  357 

to  her.  The  night  had  brought  counsel.  She  was 
strong,  though  sorrowful.  She  had  fought  one  of 
the  great  battles  of  life ;  she  had  striven  with  an 
enemy  which  most  loving  women,  sooner  or  later, 
must  encounter. 

"lam  a  woman  now,"  she  said.  There  was  a 
great  sadness  in  her  heart.  It  seemed  long  ages 
since  the  happy  morning.  But  she  was  wild  and 
desperate  no  longer.  She  stood  in  the  tender  dark 
ness,  and  thought. 

There  was  a  sound  on  the  road.  A  carriage  com 
ing  fast  up  the  long  slopes.  "  How  fast  it  comes  !  " 
she  thought.  She  did  not  know  it  was  coming  to 
her  —  to  her,  through  the  night. 

It  stopped  an  instant  just  below  the  cross-roads. 
Then  turned,  and  went  slowly  down  the  hill.  The 
panting  horses  could  now  take  breath.  The  gate 
swung  open.  Rose  started  violently.  "  Only  Syd 
ney  has  that  step." 

He  came  straight  to  the  porch.  A  white  figure 
met  him  with  outstretched,  trembling  hands.  "  She 
is  there,  by  the  Hermes,"  whispered  Gertrude. 
Without  a  word,  he  strode  on  in  the  darkness. 

Eose  was  waiting  in  rapturous  doubt.  She  sprang 
towards  him. 

"  Sydney !  0  Sydney !  "  she  cried,  and  lifted  her 
innocent  arms,  and  clasped  him  close. 

Ah !  what  were  mocking  mirrors,  beautiful  women, 
—  the  whole  world  beside,  now  ? 

He  held  her  in  his  strong  embrace,  as  if  she  had 
been  restored  to  him  from  danger  or  from  death. 


358  AUNT  SERENA. 

He  kissed  the  dews  from  her  hair,  the  sorrow  from 
her  eyes. 

"  My  little  love !  My  poor  little  Rose  !  What  is 
she  doing  here  all  alone  in  the  dark  night  ?  So  cold 
—  cold,  lovely  lips,  cold,  dear  hands  ;"  and  his  smile, 
shadowy  in  the  darkness,  was  as  sweet  as  Hermes' 
own,  —  ah,  sweeter !  for  his  warm  human  arms  were 
enfolding  her ;  and  his  loving,  eager,  true  voice  was 
whispering  comfort  to  her  soul. 

"  Dear  heart,  you  thought "- — 

"  Hush,  Sydney  :  I  think  nothing." 

"It  was  not  true,"  he  said  with  tender,  solemn 
triumph.  "  Nothing  is  true  except  that  I  love  you, 
my  Rose ! " 

The  poplars  breathed  their  happy  sighs  out  upon 
the  soft,  strong,  warm  night-wind  ;  and  pale,  sweet 
Hermes  smiled  divinely  as  the  lovers  walked  on 
through  the  dark,  fragrant  garden. 

Gertrude  was  waiting  on  the  porch.  They  drew 
near  with  fervent,  thankful  words.  But  standing 
like  the  small  child-god  of  silence  who  holds  a  wise 
warning  finger  to  his  merry  lips,  —  her  fair  face 
shining  with  pure,  unselfish  joy,  — 

"  Softly,"  she  said.     For  aunt  Serena  slept. 


211  TBEMONT  STREET,  BOSTON, 
October,  1881. 


A   LIST   OF  BOOKS 


PUBLISHED  BY 


Messrs.  James  R.  Osgood  &  Co. 


Any  book  on  this  b'st  sent  POSTPAID  on  receipt  of  the  adver 
tised  price. 


AMERICAN-ACTOR  SERIES  (THE).     Edited  by  Lau- 

rence  Hutton.  A  series  of  volumes  by  the  best  writers,  embracing 
the  lives  of  the  most  famous  American  actors.  Illustrated  with 
portraits,  views,  etc.  Each  in  one  vol.  12mo.  $1.25.  Among 
the  subjects  are  Forrest,  the  Booths,  the  Jeffersons,  Charlotte  Gush- 
man,  etc. 

ANGELL'S  (DR.  HENRY  C.)  Records  of  the  Late  William 

M.  Hunt.  With  numerous  Illustrations  from  the  works  of  Mr.  Hunt. 
1  vol.  Small  4to.  $1.50. 

ARNOLD'1 S  (GEORGE)  Poems.  Edited,  with  a  Biographi 
cal  Sketch  of  the  Poet,  by  WILLIAM  WINTER.  With  Portrait  and 
Illustrations.  1  vol.  16mo.  Cloth,  $1.50.  Half-calf,  $3.00.  Morocco 
antique  or  tree-calf,  $4.00. 

BARRETTS  (LAWRENCE)  Edwin  Forrest.    Vol.  I.  of  the 

American-Actor  Series.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.25. 

BLACKBURN'S  (HKNRY)  Breton  Folk:  An  Artistic  Tour 
In  Normandy.  With  170  Illustrations  by  RANDOLPH  CALDECOTT. 
1  vol.  Small  4to.  $1.50. 

BAKER'S  History  of  Engraving.     In  preparation. 
BUDGE'S  (ERNEST  A.,  M.R.A.S.)  The  History  of  Esar- 

haddon  (Son  of  Sennacherib),  King  of  Assyria  B.C.  681-668 
Translated  from  the  Cuneiform  Inscriptions.  8vo.  Gilt  top.  $400. 


A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


BOSTON,    The    Memorial    History    of.       Including   the 

Present  County  of  Suffolk.  1630-1880.  Seventy  eminent  Collabora 
tors.  4  vols.  4to.  Copiously  illustrated.  Vols.  I.,  II.,  and  III. 
ready.  Vol.  IV.  in  preparation.  Send  for  Prospectus. 

BOUCICAULTS  (Diox)   The  Story  of  Ireland.      Pam- 

pblet.    8vo.    "With  Portrait  of  Author  on  cover-page.    10  cents. 

BURNETT'S  (MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON)  A  Fair  Barba 
rian.  1vol.  16mo.  $1.00. 

CESNOLA'S  (GEN.   L.   P.   m)   The    Cesnola    Collection 

of  Cyprus  Antiquities.  A  Descriptive  and  Pictorial  Atlas.  Large 
folio.  500  Plates.  Sold  by  subscription  only. 

CHAMBERLAIN'S  (BASIL  HALL)  The  Classical  Poetry 

of  the  Japanese.    1  vol.    8vo.    Gilt  top.    $3.00. 

CHENOWETH'S    (MRS.   C.    VAN    D.)    Stories   of   the 

Saints.    Beautifully  illustrated.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 

CLARKE'S  (REV.  JAMES  FREEMAN)  Self-Culture.     1  vol. 

12mo.    Cloth,  $1.50.    Half  calf,  $3.00. 

CLEMENT'S  (CLARA  ERSKINE)  A  Handbook  of  Legen 
dary  and  Mythological  Art.  With  a  profusion  of  Descriptive  Illustra 
tions.  Fourteenth  Edition,  with  Revisions  and  New  Illustrations. 
1  vol.  Crown  8vo.  $3.00.  Half-calf,  $5.00.  Tree-calf,  $7.00. 

. Painters,  Sculptors,  Arcliitects,  Engravers, 

and  their  Works.  Sixth  Edition,  with  Revisions  and  New  Illustra- 
tions.  1  vol.  Crown  8vo.  $3.00.  Half-calf,  $5.00.  Tree-calf,  $7.00. 

COLLING'S   (J.  K.)  Art-Foliage.     Entirely  new  Plates 

from  the  latest  enlarged  London  Edition.    Cloth.    Folio.    $10.00. 

CONGDON'S  (CHARLES  T.)  Reminiscences  of  a  Journal 
ist.  1  vol.  12mo.  With  Portrait.  Cloth,  $1.50.  Half-calf,  $3.00. 

COOKE'S  (MRS.  LAURA  S.  H.)  Dimple  Dopp.  A  beau 
tiful  illustrated  juvenile.  Small  quarto,  elegantly  bound.  $1.50. 

COOKE'S  (ROSE  TERRY)  Somebody's  Neighbors.     1  vol. 

12mo.    Cloth,  $1.50.    Half-calf,  $3.00. 

CRANE'S  (WALTER)  The  First  of  May.    A  Fairy  Masque. 

With  57  designs  from  original  drawings  by  Walter  Crane.  1  vol. 
Oblong  folio.  (From  the  London  ten-guinea  Edition.)  Price,  $2.50. 

DAMEN'S  GHOST.    Vol.  VI.  of  the  Round-Robin  Series 

of  anonymous  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

DAVIDSON'S  (J.  MORRISON)  Eminent  English  Liberals. 

1  vol.    16mo.    $1.25. 

DICKENS' S  (CHARLES)  Works.  University  Edition.  15  vols. 

12mo.    200  Illustrations.    Half-calf,  $50.00.    Sold  only  in  sets. 

. Child's  History  of  England.     24  Illustrations. 

New  plates  and  large  type.    12mo.    $1.00. 
The   Same.      100  fine   Illustrations.      12mo. 


Bevelled  and  gilt  extra.    $2.50. 


James  R.  Osgood  &  Co. 


DODGE'S    (THEODORE    A.,   U.S.A.)   The   Campaign  of 

Chancellorsville.    1  vol.    8vo.    "With  4  colored  maps.    $3.00. 

DU  MAURIER'S  (GEORGE)  Pictures   from  Society.    50 

full-page  Pictures  from  Punch.    1  vol.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $5.00. 

EASTWICK'S  (EDWARD  B.)  The  Gulistan;  or,  Rose  Gar 
den  of  Shekh  Hushlin'ddin  Sadi  of  Shiraz.    8vo.    Gilt  top.  $3.50. 

E  WING'S  (MRS.  EMMA  P.)  Cooking  and  Castle-Building. 

1  vol.    16mo.     $1.00. 

FAVORITE-AUTHORS  SERIES: 

FA  VORITE  A  UTHORS.     A  Companion-Book  of  Prose 

and  Poetry.    With  Steel  Portraits.    1  vol.    12mo.    Full  gilt.    Clolb, 
$2.00.    Half-calf,  $4.00.    Morocco  antique,  $5.00. 

HOUSEHOLD  FRIENDS  for  Every  Season.    10  Steel 

Portraits.    1  vol.    12mo.    Full  gilt.    Cloth,  $2.00.    Half-calf,  $4.00. 
Morocco  antique,  $5.00. 

GOOD  COMPANY  FOR  EVERY   DAY   IN    THE 

YEAR.     With   Steel  Portraits.     1  vol.      12mo.    Full  gilt.    Cloth, 
$2.00.    Half-calf,  $4.00.    Morocco  antique,  $5.00. 

FORBES' S  (ARCHIBALD)  Glimpses  through  the  Cannon- 
Smoke.    1  vol.    12mo. 


GARDNER'S  (E.  C.)  Homes,  and  How  to  Make  Them  ; 

or,  Hints  on  Locating  and  Building  a  House.  In  Letters  between 
an  Architect  and  a  Family  Man  seeking  a  House.  30  Illustrations. 
1  vol.  Square  12mo.  $1.50. 

Home  Interiors.     Illustrated  with  62  Plates 


designed  by  the  Author.    1  vol.    Square  12mo.    $1.50. 
Illustrated  Homes.    Illustrated  with  51  Plates 


designed  by  the  Author.    1  vol.    Square  12mo.    $1.50. 

GEORGIANS    (THE).      Vol.   III.   of    the    Round-Robin 

Series  of  anonymous  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

GERALDINE :  A  Souvenir  of  the  St.  Lawrence.    A  poet 
ical  romance.    1  vol.    IGmo.    $1.25. 

GOETHE'S  Faust.     Translated  into  English  Prose  by  A. 

HATWAKD.    1  vol.    16mo.    $1.25. 
GREENOUGH'S  (MRS.  RICHARD)   Mary  Magdalene:   a 

Poem.    In  unique  London  binding.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.50. 

HALE'S  (LUCRETIA  P.)  The   Peterkin  Papers.      8  Illus 
trations.    1  vol.    16mo.    $1.00. 
HALL'S  (G.  STANLEY,  Pn.D.)  Aspects  of  German  Culture. 

A  Volume  of  Essays  and  Criticisms.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.50. 

HARTING'S  (JAMES  EDMUND,  F.L.S.,   F.Z.S.)   Britisli 

Animals  Extinct  within   Historic  Times.    With  Some  Account  of 
British  Wild  White  Cattle.   Illustrated.    1vol.    8vo.    Gilt  top.    $4.50. 

HARTT'S    (PROFESSOR    C.    F.)     Geology  and    Physical 

Geography  of  Brazil.    With  72  Illustrations.    In  preparation. 


A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


HAYWARD'S   (ALMIRA  L.)     The    Illustrated   Birthday 

Book  of  American  Poets.  Revised  and  enlarged  edition,  with  index 
for  names,  and  portraits  of  thirteen  great  American  poets.  1  vol. 
18mo.  $1.00.  Half-calf,  $2.25.  Flexible  morocco,  $3.50. 

HELIOTYPE  GALLERIES.      Elegant  quarto  volumes, 

richly  stamped  in  gold  and  colors,  with  Descriptive  Text  and  full- 
page  Heliotype  Engravings. 

GEMS     OF     THE     DRESDEN    GALLERY.      20 

Heliotypes,  with  Descriptions.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $7.50. 
THE    GOETHE    GALLERY.      21    Heliotypes,   from 
the    Original   Drawings   by    WILHELM   VON   KAULBACH.      With 
Explanatory  Text.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $7.50. 

ENGRAVINGS  FROM  LAND  SEE  It.     20  full-page 

Heliotypes.    With  a  Biography  of  Landseer.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $7.50. 
STUDIES  FROM  RAPHAEL.     24  choice  Heliotypes 

from  Raphael's  celebrated  Paintings.  With  Text  by  M.  T.  B. 
EMERIC-DAVID,  of  the  Institute  of  France.  4to.  Full  gilt.  $7.50. 

THE    TITIAN    GALLERY.      20    large     Heliotypes 

of  Titian's  chef-d'ceuvres.    With  a  Biography.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $7.50. 

TOSCHPS  ENGRA  VINGS,  from  Frescos  by  Correggio 
and  Parmegiano.    24  Heliotypes.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $7.50. 

THE  GALLERY  OF  GREAT  COMPOSERS.     Fine 

Portraits  of  Bach,  Handel,  Gluck,  Haydn,  Mozart,  Beethoven, 
Schubert,  Von  Weber,  Mendelssohn,  Schuman,  Meyerbeer,  and 
Wagner.  Biographies  by  RIMBAULT.  4to.  Full  gilt.  $7.50. 

HOMOSELLE.     Vol.   V.   of  the  Round-Robin  Series  of 

anonymous  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

HOWELLS'S  (WILLIAM   D.)     A   Fearful  Responsibility, 

and  other  Stories.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.50. 

HOW  ITT 'S  (MARY)  Mabel  on  Midsummer  Day:  a  Story 

of  the  Olden  Time.  With  12  Silhouettes  by  HKLEN  M.  HINDS. 
1  vol.  4to.  $1.50. 

HUNNE  WELL'S   (J.  F.)    Bibliography  of  Charlestowti, 

Mass.,  and  Bunker  Hill.    1  vol.    8vo.    Illustrated.    $2.00. 

KEENE'S  (CHARLES)   Our  People.      400   Pictures   from 

Punch.    1  vol.    4to.    Full  gilt.    $5.00. 

KENDRICK'S  (PROFESSOR  A.  C.)  Our  Poetical  Favorites. 

First,  Second,  and  Third  Series.  3vols.  12mo.  In  cloth,  per  vol., 
$2.00.  Half-calf,  per  vol.,  $4.00.  Morocco  or  tree-calf,  $5.00. 

KING'S  (CLARENCE)  Mountaineering  in  the  Sierra  Nevada. 
1  vol.    12mo.    With  Maps.    Revised  and  Enlarged  Edition.    $2.00. 

LESSON  IN  LOVE  (A).     Vol.  II.  of  the  Round-Robin 

Series  of  anonymous  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

LONGFELLOW'S  (H.  \V.)  Poems.      Illustrated  Family 

Edition.  Full  gilt.  Elegantly  stamped.  1  vol.  8vo.  Cloth,  $2.50. 
Half-calf,  $5.00.  Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $7.50. 


James  R.  Osgood  &  Co. 


MEREDITH'S  (OWEN)    Lucile.      Entirely  new  edition, 

from  new  plates,  with  160  illustrations  by  the  most  famous  American 
artists.  Elegantly  bound,  with  full  gilt  edges,  in  box.  1  vol.  8vo. 
Cloth,  $6.00.  Full  morocco,  or  tree-calf,  $10.00.  The  Holiday 
Book  of  1881. 

With  24  Illustrations  by  GEO.  Du  MAURI  ER. 

1  vol.    8vo.    Cloth,  $5.00.    Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $9.00. 

NAMELESS  NOBLEMAN  (A).     Vol.  I.  of  the  Round 

Robin  Scries  of  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

NARJOUX'S  (FELIX)    Journey  of   an    Architect  in   the 

North-west  of  Europe.    Fully  illustrated.    1  vol.    8vo.    $2.00. 

OSGOOD' S  AMERICAN  GUIDE-BOOKS: 

NEW  ENGLAND.     With  17  Maps  and  Plans.     1  vol. 

16mo.    Flexible  cloth.    $1.50. 

THE  MIDDLE  STATES.     With  22  Maps  and  Plans. 

1  vol.    16mo.    Flexible  cloth.    $1.50. 

THE  MARITIME  PROVINCES.     With  9  Maps  and 

Plans.    1  vol.    16mo.    Flexible  cloth.    $1.50. 

THE  WHITE  MOUNTAINS.     With  6  Maps  and  6 

Panoramas.    1  vol.    IGino.    Flexible  cloth.    $1.50. 

PATTY'S  PERVERSITIES.     Vol.  IV.  of  the  Round- 

Robin  Series  of  anonymous  novels.    16mo.    $1.00. 

PENINS  ULA  R  CA  MPA IGN  (THE)  of  General  McClellan 

in  1862.  (Vol.  I.  of  the  Papers  of  the  Military  Historical  Society  of 
Massachusetts.)  1  vol.  8vo.  With  maps.  $3.00. 

PERKINS'S  (F.  B.)  Congressional  District  Vote  Map  of 

the  United  States.    In  cloth  case.    50  cents. 

PERRY'S    (NORA)     A  Book    of    Love   Stories.     1  vol. 

16mo.    $1.00. 

POE'S  (EDGAR  ALLAN)  Select  Works,  Poetical  and  Prose. 

Household  Edition.  With  Portrait.  1  vol.  12mo.  Cloth,  $2.00. 
Half-calf,  $4.00.  Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $5.00. 

Poetical  Works.     Diamond  Edition.     1  vol.    18mo. 

Cloth,  $1.00.    Half-calf,  $2.25.    Morocco,  $3.00.    Tree-calf,  $3.50. 

PRESTON'S  (Miss  HARRIET  W.)  The  Georgics  of  Vei- 

gil.    1vol.    18mo.    $1.00. 

The   Same.      With  red  rules    and    initials. 

Illustrated.    1  vol.    Small  quarto.    $2.00. 

PUTNAM'S  (J.  PICKERING)    The  Open  Fireplace  in  all 

Ages.    With  269  Illustrations.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 

RENAN'S  (ERNEST)  English   Conferences.      Rome    and 

Christianity:  Marcus  Aurelius.  Translated  by  CLARA  EBSKINB 
CLEMENT.  1  vol.  16mo.  75  cents. 


A  List  of  Books  Published  by 


ROUND-ROBIN    SERIES    (THE).       A    new  series    of 

anonymous  novels  by  the  best  writers.  Each  no'vel  is  complete  in 
one  volume.  16mo.  $1.00.  Now  ready :  A  Nameless  Nobleman, 
A  Lesson  in  Love,  The  Georgians,  Patty's  Perversities,  Homoselle. 

SARGENT'S  (Mns.  JOHN  T.)  Sketches  and  Reminiscences 

of  the  Radical  Club.  Illustrated.  1  vol.  12mo  Cloth,  $2.00. 
Full  gilt,  $2.50.  Half-calf,  $4.00. 

SENSIER'S  (ALFRED)  Jean-Fran9ois  Millet:  Peasant  and 
Painter.  Translated  by  HELENA  DE  KAY.  With  Illustrations. 
1  vol.  Square  8vo.  $3.00. 

SHAKESPEARE'S    WORKS.     Handy- Volume  Edition. 

13  yols.  Illustrated.  32mo.  In  neat  box.  Cloth,  $7.50.  Morocco 
antique,  $15.00. 

SHALER   (PROFESSOR  N.  S.)  and  DAVIS 'S  (WM.  M.) 

*    Illustrations  of  the  Earth's  Surface.    Part  I.    Glaciers.     Copiously 
illustrated  with  Heliotypes.    Large  folio.    $10.00. 

SHEDD'S  (MRS.  JULIA  A.)  Famous  Painters  and  Paint 
ings.  Revised  and  enlarged  edition.  With  13  full-page  Ileliotypes. 
1  vol.  12mo.  Cloth,  $3.00.  Half-calf,  $5.00.  Tree-calf,  $7.00. 

Famous  Sculptors  and  Sculpture.  With  13  full- 
page  Heliotypes.  1  vol.  12mo.  Cloth,  $3.00.  Half-calf,  $5.00. 
Tree-calf,  $7.00. 

SHERRATT'S  (R.  J.)  The  Elements  of  Hand-Railing. 

38  Plates.    Small  folio.     $2.00. 

SIKES'S  (WiRT)  British  Goblins,  Welsh  Folk-Lore,  Fairy 

Mythology,  Legends,  and  Traditions.  Illustrated.  1  vol.  v8o. 
Bound  in  gold  and  black.  Gilt  top.  $4.00. 

SPOON ER  (SAMUEL)  and  CLEMENT'S  (MRS.  CLARA 

EBSKINE)  A  Biographical  History  of  the  Fine  Arts.    In  Press. 
SWEETSER'S    (M.  F.)    Artist- Biographies.      Illustrated 

with  12  Heliotypes  in  each  volume.    IGmo.     Cloth.     $1.50  each. 

Vol.      I.    Raphael,  Leonardo  da  Vinci,  Michael  Angelo. 

Vol.    II.    Titian,  Guido  Reni,  Claude  Lorraine. 

Vol.  III.    Sir  Joshua  Reynolds,  Turner,  Landsecr. 

Vol.  IV.    DUrer,  Rembrandt.  Van  Dyck. 

Vol.    V.    Fra  Angelico,  Murillo,  Allston. 

The  set,  in  cloth,  5  vols.,  $7.50.  Half-calf,  $15.00.  Tree-calf, 
$25.00.  The  same  are  also  published  in  smaller  volumes,  one 
biography  in  each.  15  vols.  18mo.  Per  vol.,  50  cents. 

SYMONDS'S     (JOHN    ADDINGTON)    New    and    Old:    a 

Volume  of  Verse.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.60. 

TENNYSON'S   (ALFRED)    A    Dream    of    Fair  Women. 

40  Illustrations.  Arabesque  binding.  1  vol.  4to.  $5.00.  In 
Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $9.00. 

• Ballads    and    other    Poems.       Author's 

Edition,  with  Portrait.    1  vol.    16mo.    50  cents. 

Poems.     Illustrated  Family  Edition.    Full 


gilt.     Elegantly  stamped.     1  vol.     8vo.     $2.50.     Half-calf,  $5.00 
Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $7.50. 


James  R.  Osgood  &  Co. 


THA  CKERA  Y  (WILLIAM  M.),  The  Ballads  of.    Complete 

illustrated  edition.    Small  quarto.    Elegantly  bound.    $3.00. 
TOWN  SEN  D'S  (S.  NUGENT)  Our  Indian  Summer  in  the 

Far    Wes.,.     Illustrated  with  full-page  Photographs  of   Scenes  in 
Kansas.  Colorado,  New  Mexico,  Texas,  etc.    1  vol.    4to.    $25.00. 

UPTON'S  (GEORGE  P.)  Woman  in  Music.     With  Helio- 

type  Illustrations.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00.    Half-calf,  $4.00. 
VIOLLET-LE-DUC'S  (E.-E.)  Discourses  on  Architecture. 
Translated  by  HENRY  VAN  BRUNT.    With  18  large  Plates  and  110 
Woodcuts.    Vol.  I.    8vo.    $5.00. 

Discourses       on        Architecture. 

Vol.  II.    With  Steel  Plates,  Chromes,  and  Woodcuts.    8vo.    $5.00. 

The  Story  of  a  House.     Illustrated 


with  62  Plates  and  Cuts.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 

The  Habitations  of   Man  in  all 


Ages.    With  103  Illustrations.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 
Annals  of  a  Fortress.      With  85 


Illustrations.    1  vol.    12mo.    $2.00. 

WARREN'S   (JOSEPH   II.,   M.D.)   A  Practical    Treatise 

on  Hernia.  New  Edition,  enlarged  and  revised,  with  many  new 
Illustrations.  1  vol.  8vo.  $5.00. 

WHIST,  American  or  Standard.  By  G.  W.  P.  Second 
Edition  revised.  1  vol.  16mo.  $1.00. 

WHITTIER'S    (JOHN    G.)    Poems.      Illustrated    Family 

Edition.  Full  gilt.  Elegantly  stamped.  1  vol.  8vo.  $2.50. 
Half-calf,  $5.00.  Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $7.50. 

WINCKELM  ANN'S    (Joim)    The    History  of    Ancient 

Art.  Translated  by  Dr.  G.  H.  LODGE.  78  Copper-plate  Engrav 
ings.  2  vols.  8vo.  Cloth,  $9.00.  Half-calf,  $18.00.  Morocco 
antique  or  tree-calf,  $25.00. 

. The    Same.     Large-paper    Edition. 

Large  4to.    $30.00.     Only  100  copies  printed. 

WINTER'S  (WILLIAM)  Poems.     Pvevised  Edition.     1  vol. 

16mo.    Cloth,  $1.50.    Half-culf,  $3.00.     Morocco  or  tree-calf,  $4.00. 

_ , The  Trip  to  England.  With  full-page  Illustra 
tions  by  JOSEPII  JEFFERSON.  1  vol.  16mo.  $2.00.  Half-calf, 
$4.00.  Morocco  antique  or  tree-calf,  $5.00. 

The  Life,  Stories,  and  Poems  of  John  Brougham. 


Edited  by  W.  WINTER.    1  vol.    12mo.    Illustrated.    $2.00. 

Fitz-James    O'Brien's    Tales,    Sketches,    and 


Poems.    Edited  by  W.  WINTKB.    1  vol.    12mo.    Illustrated.    $2.00, 


Valuable  Historical  and  Critical  Works  by  Subscription. 
THE   CENTENNIAL    HISTORY 

OP    THE 

AMERICAN    EPISCOPAL    CHURCH. 

BY  WILLIAM  STEVENS  PERRY,  D.D.,  LLD., 
Bishop  of  Iowa,  Historiographer  of  the  American  Church, 

WITH  THE   CO-OPEBATION   OF  A  NUMBER  OP    LEADING   BISHOPS,   CLERGY 
MEN,  AND  LAYMEN. 

In  Two  Volumes  Quarto,  with  Many  Portraits,  Views,  Facsimiles, 

and  other  Illustrations. 

This  work  is  designed  to  mark  the  Centennial  period  of  the  organization 
of  the  Protestant  Episcopal  Church  in  the  United  States,  and  to  give  the  full 
and  accurate  history  of  that  important  ecclesiastical  body  down  to  the  pres 
ent  time,  together  with  the  narrative  of  the  planting  and  growth  of  the 
American  Colonial  Church  from  the  period  of  the  discovery  and  early  set 
tlement  of  the  Continent  to  the  close  of  the  War  of  Independence.  Among 
the  writers  are,  — 

Hon.  ROBERT  C.  WINTHROP,  LL.D.,  Rt.  Rev.  JOHN    WILLIAMS,   D.D., 

Rev.  BENJAMIN  F.  DE  COSTA,  M.A.,  LL.D., 

Rev.  PHILLIPS  BROOKS,  D.D.,  Rt.  Rev.  WILLIAM  BACON  STEVENS, 

Rev.  MORGAN  Dix,  8.T.D.,  D.D.,  LL.D. 

A    MEMORIAL    HISTORY 

OP  THE 

COUNTY  OF  HARTFORD,  CONN. 

ITS  TOWNS  AND  CITIES,  1631  TO  1881. 
In  Two  Volumes  Quarto,  Illustrated. 

EDITED  BY  J.  HAMMOND   TRUMBULL,  LL.D., 

President  of  the  Connecticut  Historical  Society. 
Rev.  SAMUEL  J.  ANDREWS,  CHARLES  J.  HOADLY,  Esq.,  CHARLES 

DUDLEY  WARNER,  Esq.,  Consulting  Editors. 

The  various  sections  of  the  county  history  and  the  histories  of  the  towns 
and  cities  will  be  intrusted  to  the  gentlemen  who  are  best  qualified  to  under 
take  them.  Vol.  I.  will  contain  the  History  of  the  County  and  of  the  Town 
and  City  of  Hartford.  Vol.  II.  will  comprise  independent  histories  of  the 
ather  towns,  from  their  settlement  to  the  present  year. 

DURING  THE  AUTUMN  OF  1881 
will  be  published  the  last  two  volumes  of  the  magnificent  work, 

THE     MEMORIAL     HISTORY     OF    BOSTON, 

INCLUDING  THE  PRESENT  COUNTY  OF  SUFFOLK.  — 1630  TO  1880. 

In  Four  Volumes,  quarto,  with  more  than  500  Illustrations  by  famous 
artists  and  engravers,  all  made  for  this  work. 

The  subject,  though  a  grouping  of  associations  connected  with  the  name 
:if  Boston,  is  really  so  expansive  as  to  embrace,  for  the  earlier  periods  at 
least,  the  history  of  Eastern  Massachusetts  and  almost  of  New  England,  for 
which  Boston  stands  as  the  exponent  in  nearly  all  phases  of  her  history. 

*$*  The  above-mentioned  books  are  sold  fa/  subscription  only.      Send  for 
Prospectuses  to  the  Publishers, 

JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  86  CO.,  Boston. 


NEW  BOOKS  FOR  AUTUMN  PUBLICATION, 

To  be  Published  in  October* 

CLARKE'S  (REV.  JAMES  FREEMAN)  Events  and  Epochs 

In  Religious  History :  Being  a  Course  of  Lectures  read  in  the 
Lowell  Institute,  Boston,  1880.  1  vol.  Crown  octavo.  With  many 
Illustrations.  $3.00. 

COOKE'S  (GEORGE  WILLIS)  Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  :   His 

Life,  Writings,  and  Philosophy.    1  vol.    Crown  octavo.    $2.50. 

DAHLGREN'S    (MRS.    MADELINE    VINTON)     South-Sea 

Sketches.    1vol.    12mo.    $1.50. 

GUSTAFSON'S  (MRS.  ZADEL  BARNES)  Genevieve  Ward. 

A  Biographical  Sketch  from  Original  Material  derived  from  her 
family  and  friends.  With  Illustrations.  1  vol.  $1.25. 

HASSARD'S  (JonN  R.  G.)   A  Pickwickian  Pilgrimage. 

1  vol.    Small  16mo.    $1.00. 

HOUSE'S   (EDWARD    H.)    Japanese    Episodes.       1    vol. 

16mo.    $1.00. 

HOWARD'S   (BLANCHE    WILLIS)  Aunt  Serena.      1  vol. 

16mo.    $1.25. 

HUTCHINSON'S  (ELLEN  M.)  Songs  and  Lyrics.     1  vol. 

16mo.     $1.25. 

JOHNSTON'S  (ELIZABETH  BRYANT)  Original  Portraits  of 

Washington.  Ahout  seventy  Heliotype  Portraits,  with  Descriptive 
History  of  each.  1  vol.  Quarto.  $10.00. 

MADDEN'S  (FREDERIC   W.,   M.R.A.S.,   M.  Num.  Soc., 

etc.)  The  Coins  of  the  Jews.  Illustrated  with  270  Woodcuts 
(chiefly  hy  the  eminent  artist-antiquary,  F.  W.  Fairholt,  F.B.A.) 
and  a  plate  of  Alphabets.  $12.00. 

NORTON'S  (C.  B.)  American  Inventions  and  Improve 
ments  in  Breech-Loading  Small  Arms,  Heavy  Ordnance,  Machine 
Guns,  Magazine  Arms,  Fixed  Ammunition,  Pistols,  Projectiles,  Ex 
plosives,  and  other  Munitions  of  War,  including  a  chapter  on  LiiV>- 
Saving  Projectiles  and  Sporting  Afros.  Second  edition,  revised  and 
corrected.  1  vol.  Quarto.  4o8  pages.  Illustrated  with  75  engrav. 
ings  on  wood,  steel  plates,  lithographs,  and  plates  in  color.  $10.00. 

PALMER'S   (MRS.    HENRIETTA  LEE)  Home-Life  in  the 

Bible.  Edited  hy  John  W.  Palmer.  With  220  Illustrations.  Full 
octavo.  $5.00.  By  subscription  only. 


10  A  List  of  Books  Published  by 

PEROTS  (TOWNSEND)  A  Dictionary  of  the  Stage.     1  vol. 

12mo.    $2.00. 

PL YMP TON'S  (Miss  A.  G.)  The  Glad  Year  Round.     A 

new  juvenile,  of  the  style  which  Walter  Crane  and  Kate  Grcenaway 
have  made  so  popular;  beautifully  printed  in  colors  throughout, 
•with  original  and  entertaining  poetry.  Square  octavo,  with  illumi 
nated  covers.  $2.50. 

POETS    AND    ETCHERS.      A    sumptuous  volume  oi 

twenty  full-page  etchings,  by  James  D.  Smillie,  Samuel  Oolman, 
A.  F.  Bellows,  II.  Farrer,  R.  Swain  Gifford,  illustrating  poems  by 
Longfellow,  Whittier,  Bryant,  Aldrich,  etc.  Quarto.  Elegantly 
bound.  $10.00.  Also  limited  editions  on  China  and  Japan  paper. 

WHITMAN'S    (WALT)    Leaves  of    Grass.       Containing 

the  matter  comprised  in  his  former  volumes,  with  his  latest  poems. 
With  portrait.  1  vol.  12mo.  $2.50. 

WILLIAMS' S   (ALFRED   M.)  The  Poets  and   Poetry  of 

Ireland.  With  Historical  and  Critical  Essays  and  Notes.  An 
exhaustive  compilation  of  the  best  verses  of  the  Irish  poets  from  tht 
earliest  times  to  the  present.  1  vol.  12mo.  $2.00. 

WINTER'S  (WILLIAM)  The  Jeffersons.     Vol.  II.  of  the 

American-Actor  Series.    1  vol.    12mo.    $1.25. 


To  be  Published  in  November. 

BACON'S  (HENRY)  Parisian  Art  and  Artists.     Copiously 

illustrated.  •  1  vol.    Square  8vo.    $3.00. 

CLARKE'S    (MRS.    ASIA    BOOTH)    The  Elder   and    the 

Younger  Booth.  Vol.  in.  of  the  "  American-Actor  Series."  Illus 
trated.  1  vol.  12mo.  $1.25. 

CLEMENT'S  (CLARA   ERSKLNE)   Eleanor  Maitland.     A 

Novel.    1vol.    16mo.    $1.25. 

GONSE'S  (Louis)  Eugene  Fromentin,  Painter  and  Writer  : 
translated  from  the  French.  Copiously  illustrated.  1  vol.  Square 
8vo.  $3.00. 

HOWELLS'S  (WILLIAM  D.)  Dr.  Breen's  Practice.     1  vol. 

12mo.    $1.50. 

NORTON'S  (C.  B.)  Heavy   Ordnance,    Siege  and  Naval 

Guns,  Light  Artillery,  Machine  Guns,  Life-Saving  Ordnance  and 
Projectiles,  as  manufactured  by  the  South  Boston  Iron  Company. 
1  vol.  Quarto. 


James  R.  Osgood  &  Co.  11 


SHALER'S  (PROFESSOR  N.  S.)  and  DA  VIS'S  (WILLIAM 

M.)  Illustrations  of  the  Earth's  Surface.  Volume  II.  Quarto,  with 
many  Heliotypes.  $10.00. 

WALKER'S  (REV.  J.  B.  R.)  A  New  and  Enlarged  Con- 

cordance  to  the  Holy  Scriptures.  The  most  perfect  Concordance  of 
the  Bible  in  the  English  language.  Itconteinaover  forty  thousand,  or 
one-fifth,  more  references  and  quotations,  than  Cruden's  Unabridged, 
which  has  been  the  standard  for  a  century.  It  contains  three  times 
as  many  names  of  persons  and  places  as  Cruden's,  each  one  accca-tu- 
ated,  so  as  to  show  its  exact  pronunciation,  and  having  also  copious 
and  exhaustive  references  and  quotations.  1  vol.  8vo. 

WARE'S  (PROFESSOR  WILLIAM  R.)  Modern  Perspective. 

For  Architects,  Artists,  and  Draughtsmen.  1  vol.  12mo.  With 
Atlas  of  Plates  in  oblong  folio. 

WHEELER'S    (WILLIAM    A  )    Familiar    Allusions.      A 

Handbook  of  Miscellaneous  Information,  including  the  names  of 
celebrated  statues,  paintings,  palaces,  country-seats,  ruins,  churches, 
ships,  streets,  clubs,  natural  curiosities,  etc.  Completed  and  edited 
by  Charles  G.  Wheeler.  1vol.  12mo.  $2.50. 


To  be  Published  in  December. 

BARTLETT'S  (T.  II.)  The  Life  of  the  Late  Dr.  William 

Rimmer.  With  illustrations  from  his  Paintings,  Drawings,  and 
Sculpture.  1vol.  Quarto.  Full  gilt.  $10.00. 

CLEMENTS  (Mus.  CLARA  EKSKINE)  Charlotte  Cushman. 

Vol.  IV.  of  the  American -Actor  Series.  Illustrated.  1  vol.  12mo. 
$1.25. 

TWAIN'S  (MARK)  new  book.     With  200  Illustrations  by 

the  best  artists.  Elegantly  bound.  1  vol.  Square  8vo.  Sold  by 
subscription  only. 

STILLM ANN'S   (J.  D.  B.,  A.M.,  M.D.)  The   Horse  in 

Motion,  as  shown  in  a  series  of  views  by  instantaneous  photography, 
with  a  study  on  animal  mechanics,  founded  on  the  revelations  of  the 
camera,  in  which  the  theory  of  quadrupedal  locomotion  is  demon 
strated.  With  anatomical  illustrations  in  chromo,  after  draw'ngn  by 
William  Hahn.  With  a  preface  by  Leland  Stanford.  1  vol.  ItoyaJ 
quarto.  Fully  illustrated.  $10.00. 


X/j  Illustrated  Weekly  Journal  of  Architecture  and  the  Building 
Trades. 


Each  number  is  accompanied  by  four  fine  quarto  illustn  tior^*. 
while  illustrative  cuts  are  liberally  used  in  the  text.  Although  the 
paper  addresses  itself  primarily  to  architects  and  builders,  by  its  dis 
cussions  upon  matters  of  common  interest  to  those  engaged  in  building 
pursuits,  it  is  the  object  of  the  editors  to  make  it  acceptable  and  neces 
sary  to  that  large  portion  of  the  educated  classes  who  are  interested  in 
and  appreciate  the  importance  of  good  architectural  surroundings,  to 
civil  and  sanitary  engineers,  draughtsmen,  antiquaries,  craftsmen  of 
all  kinds,  and  all  intelligent  readers. 

TERMS :  §7.50  a  year,  or  §6.00  in  advance,  postage  free ;  15  cents 
a  number;  the  bound  volumes  for  1876,  1877,  1878,  1879,  and  1880, 
39.00  each. 

Specimen  numbers  and  advertising  rates  furnished  on  application 
to  the  publishers. 

Heliotype  Engravings. 


TJiese  beautiful  pictures  are  exact  facsimile  reproductions  by  the 
Heliotype  Process  of  rare  and  costly  engravings  and  etchings,  from 
paintings  by  the  old  masters,  and  of  the  finest  specimens  to  be  found 
of  modern  French  and  English  publications. 

They  are  printed  upon  the  same  paper,  with  the  same  ink,  as  the 
original  engravings,  and  loill  never  fade. 

They  are  of  a  uniform  size  (19  z  24  inches),  and  are  sold  at  the 
remarkably  low  price  of 

FIFTY  CENTS  EACH. 

Catalogues  sent  to  any  address  upon  application.  Any  of  the 
Heliotypes  will  be  sold  separately,  and  sent  postpaid  to  any  address 
upon  receipt  of  price. 

HELIOTYPE   ART-GALLERY, 

213  Tremont  Street,  Boston. 


Round-      ,£•• 
^ 

Q. 


Robin 


Series. 


&,  Round- 


Robin 


Series. 


Under  the  above  title  Messrs.  JAMES  R.  OSGOOD  &  Co.  have  begun 
the  publication  of  a  new  series  of  anonymous  novels.  These  novels  will 
be  chiefly  by  American  authors,  and  chosen  with  great  care.  It  is  the  aim 
of  the  publishers  that  each  novel  shall  be  distinguished  for  power,  origi 
nality,  and  interest,  and  that  the  successive  volumes  of  the  series  shall  be 
marked  by  variety  of  incident  aixl  treatment. 

The  names  of  the  writers  will  be  withheld  from  public  announcement, 
that  each  novel  may  depend  for  its  success  on  its  own  unaided  merit,  and 
its  appeal  to  the  curiosity  and  analysis  of  its  readers. 

Good  paper,  type,  and  printing  are  used ;  and  an  attractive  cover  of 
unique  and  ornamental  design  has  been  prepared.  The  price  is  fixed  at 

ONE    DOLLAR    PER    VOLUME. 


A    NAMELESS    NOBLEMAN. 

A  romance  of  ancient  New  England  and  France.  The  Hartford  Conrant  says: 
"  The  author  has  preserved  for  us  in  it  the  odors  of  both  the  rose  of  Provence  and  the  may- 
flower  of  New  England." 

A    LESSON    IN    LOVE. 

A  brilliant  story  of  modern  society  in  New  York.  The  Alliance  calls  it  "  the  novel 
of  the  year." 

THE   GEORGIANS. 

1.  powerful  study  of  Southern  character.  "  We  think  this  book  very  close  upon  Haw 
thorne's  best  effort.  .  .  .  The  grand  and  profound  climax  of  the  story  lingers  in  the  mind 
like  the  story  of  Hester  Prynne." 

PATTY'S    PERVERSITIES. 

"A  charming  story  of  quiet  New-England  life."  Nora  Perry  says:  "  It  is  the  most 
Original  story  that  has  appeared  for  years." 

HOMOSELLE. 

A  picture  of  Virginia  plantation  life  under  the  old  rtgime.  The  style  is  pure  and 
elegant,  abounding  in  touches  of  pathos  and  poetry.  "  The  book  would  not  be  out  of 
place  next  to  '  Uncle  Tom's  Cabin.'  "  —  Literary  World. 

DAMEN'S    GHOST. 

A  fascinating  story  of  contemporary  life  in  New  York. 

ROSEMARY    AND    RUE. 

A  romance  of  France  and  America,  at  the  time  of  the  Revolution.  The  scenes  aw 
bid  at  Newport  and  Yorktown,  and  in  Europe. 


LUCILK 

ILLUSTRATED.  ^ 

BY    OWEN    MEREDITH 

(LORD   LYTTON). 

The  most  popular  poem  of  the  last  twenty  years  is  now  prepared  in  a  sumptuous  Fine- 
Art  Edition,  from  new  plates,  and  printed  and  bound  with  the  utmost  care  and  skill.  It  it 
illustrated  with  160  new  wood-cuts,  engraved  by  Anthony,  Linton,  and  eighteen  other 
engravers,  from  drawings  by  fourteen  of  the  most  skilful  American  artists. 

No  other  poem  of  the  last  twenty  years  has  attained  greater  favor  among  American 
readers  than  this  epic  of  love,  sorrow,  and  nobility;  and  thousands  of  appreciative  admirers 
will  now  welcome  the  first  adequate  and  worthy  presentation  of  "  Lucile." 

The  utmost  care  has  been  taken  to  insure  for  the  engravings  the  traits  of  precision 
and  accuracy,  as  well  as  of  grace  and  delicacy.  The  magnificent  scenery  of  the  Pyrenees, 
the  beauty  of  the  Rhineland,  the  desolate  Crimean  hills,  have  been  reproduced  in  these 
pictures,  from  sketches  and  photographs  made  at  the  localities  celebrated  in  the  poem.  In 
like  manner,  the  costumes  and  uniforms  of  the  personages  have  been  made  historically 
accurate,  in  so  far  as  their  epoch  is  concerned. 

The  paper  is  cream-tinted  and  super-calendered. 
The  book  forms  an  elegant  octavo,  in  a  box. 
Price,  $6.00.    In  full  morocco,  or  tree-calf,  $fO.OO* 


"  Simply  exquisite."  —  Andrews'  American  Queen. 

"  The  most  sumptuously  published  holiday  book  of  the  season."  —  Hartford  Times. 

"  The  poem  of  '  Lucile '  is  one  of  the  most  exquisite  things  in  the  language."  —  Bos- 
Km  Traveller. 

"The  new  edition  of  'Lucile'  —  a  really  charming  poem — ...a  work  of  great 
,'jrtistic  merit."  — Art-Interchange. 

(i  The  wood-cuts  follow  the  author's  text  closely,  and  throw  fresh  life  into  it."  —  Net* 
York  Times. 

"Decidedly  one  of  the  most  charming  gift-books  —  a  poem  without  peer."  —  Ntta 
Orleans  Picayune. 

JOY  FOR    THE   CHILDREN/ 


THE  GLAD  YEAR  ROUND. 

FOR  BOYS  AND  GIRLS. 
BY    MISS   A.    G.    PLYMPTON. 

Square  8vo.      With   illuminated   covers.      Price  $2.50. 

A  series  of  new  poems,  admirably  adapted  to  please  both  young  and  old,  quaint,  ori 
ginal,  and  amusing. 

Every  page  is  adorned  with  fresh  and  spirited  illustrations  by  a  new  artist;  and  these 
dainty  pictures  are  richly  and  appropriately  colored. 

The  pages  are  large,  and  convenient  to  keep  open. 

"  The  Glad  Year  Round  "  is  a  successful  venture  in  the  field  of  art  which  has  b«>  •» 
made  so  popular  by  the  works  of  Walter  Crane  and  Kate  Greenaway. 


JAMES    R.    OSGOOD    &    CO.,    BOSTON. 


A   FAIR   BARBARIAN. 

BY  MRS.  FRANCES  HODGSON  BURNETT.    One  volume  i6mo,  handsomely  bound. 
Price,  $1.00. 

"  If  a  more  amusing  or  clever  novelette  than  '  A  Fair  Barbarian '  has  ever  been  grren 
the  American  public,  we  fail  to  recall  it." —  Pittsburgh  Telegraph. 

"  Mrs.  Burnett  fascinates  her  readers  without  appearing  to  make  an  effort,  and  plays 
upon  the  human  heart  at  will,  making  it  thrill-  and  vibrate  under  the  magic  influence  of  her 
genius."  —  New  Orleans  Democrat. 

"  We  have  no  hesitation  in  saying  that  there  is  no  living  writer  (man  or  woman)  who 
has  Mrs.  Burnett's  dramatic  power  in  telling  a  story."  —  New  York  Herald. 

"  The  brightest  and  wittiest  of  Mrs.  Burnett's  stories." — Baltimore  Every  Saturday, 

"A  particularly  sparkling  story,  the  subject  being  the  young  heiress  of  a  Pacific-siope 
silver-mine,  thrown  amid  the  very  proper  petty  aristocracy  of  an  English  rural  town."  — 
Springfield  Republican.  

A  FEARFUL  RESPONSIBILITY; 

AND  OTHER  STORIES. 

By  WILLIAM  D.  HOWELLS.    One  volume  iamo.     Price,  $1.50. 

"  Exquisite  pieces  of  workmanship,  reflecting  the  very  brightness  and  glow  of  the  at 
mosphere  of  Southern  Europe."  —  Neiu  Orleans  Democrat. 

"  The  choicest  thing  in  current  fiction."  — Hartford  Courant. 

"  The  style  is  exquisite."  —  New  York  Tribune. 

"  Against  the  rich  Venetian  background  which  our  author  is  so  fond  of  throwing  into 
his  sketches,  outlined  with  the  artistic  grace  that  has  made  him  famous,  and  infused  w  "th 
his  delicate  wit,  they  are  infinitely  more  fascinating  than  any  of  the  creations  of  jx..re 
fiction  which  other  modern  writers  are  prone  to  give  us." -—  Syracuse  Herald. 


SOMEBODY'S    NEIGHBORS. 

A    VOLUME   OF  STORIES. 

BY  ROSE  TERRY   COOKE.     In  dainty  and  elegant  binding.     400  pages,  12  stories. 
Price,  $1.50. 

"  Masterpieces  it  would  be  hard  to  match  in  any  literature."  —  New  York  Express. 

"  A  pleasanter  variety  of  good  reading  has  seldom  been  enclosed  by  one  pair  of 
covers." —  Cincinnati  Gazette. 

"  Delectable  descriptions  of  quaint,  old-fashioned  gardens,  pretty  girls,  odd  old  maids, 
and  odder  old  men.  .  .  .  Her  new  book,  '  Somebody's  Neighbors,'  is  full  of  bits  that  one 
reads  over  and  over  again,  enjoying  their  flavor  anew  each  time."  —  Boston  Transcript. 


A   BOOK   OF   LOVE    STORIES. 

'BY  NORA  PERRY.     One  volume  i6mo.    Price,  $1.00. 

Ten  of  her  choicest  stories,  in  which  the  loves  and  lovers  of  New  England  are  por 
trayed  with  grace  and  insight.  These  stories  are  written  in  a  light  and  animated  manner, 
with  felicitous  bits  of  description  and  subtle  interpretations  of  feminine  nature. 

"  Fresh  and  flavorous  as  newly-gathered  wood-strawberries."  —  Portland  Press. 

"  Old-fashioned  love  stories,  healthy  in  sentiment,  and  told  with  entire  freedom  front 
Intensity  or  exaggeration.  .  .  .  No  one  will  lay  down  her  book  without  being  re-enforced  fc 
that  fidelity  to  every-day  relations  which  is  the  salvation  of  society."  —  Christian  Uniof^. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.    Sent  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 
JAMES    R.    OSGOOD   &   CO.,    BOSTON. 


anony 


GERALDINE: 

A    SOUVENIR    OF    THE    ST.     LAWRENCE. 

One  volume  i6mo.     Price,  $1.25. 

"  A  new  poem,  by  a  well-known  American  poet  (who  prefers  for  the  present  to  be 
nymous).      It  bears  the  name  of  'Geraldine:  a  Souvenir  of  the  St.  Lawrence,'  and 


Boston  Transcript. 


THE  BIRTHDAY-BOOK  OF  AMERICAN 
POETS. 

BY  ALMIRA  L.  HAYWARD.    One  volume  i8mo.     Beautifully  bound.    Price,  $1.00. 

A  pretty  little  book  of  the  same  size  as  the  celebrated  "  Shakespeare  Birthday-Book," 
and  constructed  on  a  similar  plan.  Each  left-hand  page  has  three  divisions,  occupied  by 
choice  poetical  extracts,  and  each  right-hand  page  is  blank,  for  writing  autographs,  etc. 
The  poetical  extracts  are  admirably  selected  from  the  best  American  poets,  —  Longfellow, 
Whittier,  Holmes,  Bryant,  and  many  others.  Very  dainty,  original,  and  valuable. 

This  favorite  little  volume,  of  which  the  whole  first  edition  was  sold  last  season,  has 
been  revised  and  enlarged,  with  the  addition  of  an  index  for  names,  and  is  now  re-issued 
with  a  new  and  attractive  cover,  and  portraits  of 

ALDRICH,  HARTE,  LONGFELLOW,  STEDMAN, 

BRYANT,  HOLMES,  LOWELL,  STODDARD, 

EMERSON,  HOWELLS,  POE,  TAYLOR, 

and  WHITTIER. 

The  universal  favor  with  which  this  Birthday-Book  has  been  received  attests  the  merit 
of  the  plan  of  selecting  the  choicest  extracts  oiall  the  best  American  poets,  instead  of  lim 
iting  the  collection  to  a  single  writer,  however  eminent. 


FAMOUS  SCULPTORS  AND  SCULPTURES. 

FAMOUS   PAINTERS   AND   PAINTINGS. 

BY  MRS.  JULIA  A.  SHEDD. 

Each  in  one  volume.     Illustrated  with  13  full-page  Heliotypes.     Revised  and  enlarged 
edition,     izmo.     Price,  $3.00  each  volume;  half-calf,  $5.00;  tree-calf,  $7.00. 

"  The  volume  presents,  in  an  accessible  and  most  attractive  form,  a  wider  range  of 
valuable  information  on  the  history  of  art  than  can  elsewhere  be  found.  It  is  enriched  by 
characteristic  anecdotes  of  the  great  painters,  and  illustrated  by  Heliotypes  from  engravings 
of  some  of  the  most  famous  pictures  in  the  galleries  of  Europe.  .  .  .  This  beautiful  vol 
ume  cannot  fail  to  prove  a  work  of  permanent  interest  and  value." —  Providence  Journal. 


Sold  by  all  booksellers.     Sent  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  price,  by  the  Publishers, 

James  R.  Osgood  &  Co.,  Boston. 


University  of  California 

SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 

405  Hilgard  Avenue,  Los  Angeles,  CA  90024-1388 

Return  this  material  to  the  library 

from  which  it  was  borrowed. 


1 7 


A    000  028  595    7 


University  of  Californ 


Southern  Regional 


Library  Facility 


